Fractured
by CreativePunk77
Summary: 1995. Dudley thought things couldn't get worse after the Dementor Attack. True, he hadn't had his soul sucked out, but now he's experiencing strange dreams and struggling to keep a grip on reality.
1. Chapter 1

**This fic will be about 70 chapters long, and I hope that people enjoy.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

 _Cold._

He felt _so cold._

He felt as if the warmth had been sucked from him. _Sucked from his very soul._

He felt as if he would never be happy again.

Those _things…_

Cold. Unhappy. Made him feel _weak…_

He was cold and unhappy.

 _And it was all Potter's fault._

* * *

"Bloody traffic!"

Dudley tore off the soaked towel, panting in fear. His heart slammed against his chest and he tugged at his baggy jersey. His jersey was stuck to his skin, the summer heat coating his body in sweat. His cheeks were reddened by the sun, but he could only shiver as the coldness creeped up on him. He felt as if the Grim Reaper was caressing him, and shivered violently.

Those _things_ had made him see…

The car swerved to the right and Dudley whimpered in panic. His Dad's reckless driving had always been a source of amusement for him. Seeing his cousin's face squashed up against the glass of the window, Potter's glasses cracking as the car sped round another corner, it left him in tears of laughter.

But now, those memories were no longer looked upon as fond, as he lurched to the side, his seatbelt chafing his torso. He could imagine how Potter felt all those years ago, his Dad was driving like a maniac!

Trying to will away the motion sickness, Dudley wedged the freshly cleaned metal bucket between his large knees and knuckled his eyes.

"D-Dad… P-Please stop the c-car… I'm gonna-"

Vernon and Petunia cringed at the sound of vomit hitting the bucket, the screech of the tires the result of their panic.

"Hold on, son! We're nearly there!"

Moments later, Dudley lurched as the car swung round another corner. The motion dislodged the bucket from between his knees and he ended up with vomit splashed all over him.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

The car screeched to a halt, his parents whipping their heads round. His Dad's eyes bulged as his Mum gasped in horror.

"Duddy! Where did you learn that sort of language?!"

Their son straightened himself up and slumped back in his seat.

' _Shit, I'm in for it now. First time I've ever actually got told off in my whole life. Fuck, what do I say?'_

The lie rolled off his tongue easily, his features contorted into an early tantrum phase face.

"I heard H-Harry say it a few weeks ago! It's a really bad word I know, but I've got s-sick all over me, it was the f-first thing that came out of my mouth! I'm s-sorry!'

"Oh, sweetheart." Petunia's pursed lips softened. "That nasty boy contaminating you. Well, don't worry, once we got home, Daddy will sort him out." She glanced at her husband, who was once again driving. "Won't you, Vernon?"

"I'll make him pay for what he's done to our family. Interrupting our lives, causing destruction in primary school, setting the snake loose, messing up my deal with the Masons, blowing Marge up, the whole tongue incident, bloody Dementoids and now swearing? That boy has been let off too easy before! Making our son swear is the last straw!"

Dudley rolled his eyes. His parents really had no idea, and he was keen for it to stay that way.

"Pumpkin? I'm going to ask any of the nurses if they have spare clothes you can change into. I'm not letting my baby go round covered in…" She whimpered, whispering: _"Vomit."_

His Mum was the biggest OCD neat freak going, so Dudley was surprised that she hadn't passed out at the sight of sick splattered all over her 'perfect' angel.

"Thanks, Mum." He tossed the bucket across the back seat. "H-How much longer?"

The car screeched to a stop.

"We're here!" Vernon announced proudly, grimacing in horror at the sight of the back seat. "Cleaning the upholstery will cost an arm and a leg…"

Feeling slightly guilty about dirtying the seats, Dudley clutched his head as his parents got out of the car, shaking his head when his door opened.

"Come on out, Dudley. We need to get you seen. Take my arm."

With his mother attempting to support his bulk, he climbed out of the car, collapsing against his father seconds later.

"I've got you, Dudders, I've got you. Pet? See if you can find a doctor quickly."

Petunia nodded and headed off towards the hospital, the clacking of her sandals making Dudley's head pound.

' _Bloody Hell, what did those dementoids do? Christ, my head…'_

The next few minutes were a blur. Vision swimming in and out, Dudley allowed his body to be contorted into different positions, his mind spacing. It reminded him of when he was blazed a couple of weeks ago, and a small smirk slipped onto his face at the memory of kissing a girl behind the tree in the park.

She was nameless. A slag in his eyes. Face heavily doused in make-up, shorts skimming her arse cheeks. High pitched voice squawking everywhere. He had kissed her, mainly to shut her up and with the kissing, came feeling her up. _That_ had been a result, and he enjoyed bragging to his mates afterwards.

"Mr Dursley? Dudley? Can you look into the light please?"

Dudley blinked, spots dancing across his vision. He blinked again, the worried faces of his parents clear in front of him. They were hovering behind a doctor, who adjusted his glasses with one hand. Glasses that looked so much like Potter's.

"Dementoids…"

"What was that, Mr Dursley?"

"Huh?" Dudley scowled. "Nothing. Just get on with it. I want to go home."

The doctor raised his eyebrows, but continued on with the examination. There was no point in arguing with the boy, it seemed that he was just like his parents, who'd argued with majority of the staff in the department to get their son seen urgently. He was the only staff member willing to cope with the demanding family, and hoped that the boy wouldn't have to be referred for further treatment.

Dudley stared into the light, huffing when the doctor asked questions. He left his Mum to answer for him, zoning out once again as he reflected on earlier.

' _Potter pulled his stick out, then bam, lights went out. It got dark, we ran down the alleyway, then… I felt cold and sick… He told me to shut my mouth. Little runt, I'll get him for that. Then… Fuck, I'm not thinking about that.'_

He shook himself back to reality. "I'm gonna be s-sick again." Upon being handed a bucket, he dry-heaved, his empty stomach clenching in agony. Mum's delicious serving of meat pie was no longer coating his stomach, and he spat out saliva with a groan.

Vernon poked the doctor in the back. "Well? What's wrong with him?"

The man sighed, and stepped back. "Your son is clearly suffering from sickness and dizziness. I would suggest a few days spent in bed to recover, and drinking plenty of liquid. Try to get him to eat soup so that he can digest it easier."

"Anything wrong with his mind? Is he loopy?"

"Vernon!" Petunia hissed. "There's nothing wrong with his mind! He's perfectly normal!"

"There are no neurological issues that I can see. You're free to go."

"Thank god." Vernon took hold of the wheelchair that Dudley was seated in and wheeled him out of the room, Petunia following them closely. As the door shut, the doctor shook his head in exasperation, mumbling:

"Good grief, that boy has no chance."

* * *

"I knew there was nothing wrong with him! You see, Pet? Our son is strong!"

Usually, Dudley would have puffed his chest out at such praise, but all he wanted to do was go to bed and hide under the covers. He curled up on the back seat, the loaned clothes far too small for him. His muscles strained against the material of the shirt and he was wary that he might tear the shirt if he moved too much.

' _Great. Soup for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Least that stupid diet got me prepared for it.'_

The diet was still a sore point for him, too mortifying to go into much detail when brought up, but his bulked up body certified him dozens of trophies, a star place on the school boxing team and more attention from girls.

As well as better reputation.

"Duddykins? You did so well! We're so proud of you."

His Mum stroked his hair and Dudley smiled at the touch. She treated him like a baby and most times, it was sickening, but fuck, he needed this!

His Dad rambled on and on until they pulled onto their drive, the next five minutes spent bundling Dudley into the house and up the stairs. It was a relief when he sunk into the sheets, his duvet pulled up tight to his neck. Mum sat down on the bed and cooed sweetly, whilst Dad went out into the hall-way.

"Potter! We're back! You best thank your lucky stars Dudley is okay, but you're still going to be punished for it! Boy, you… Petunia! The boy! He's gone!"

As his mother rushed out of the room in a panic, Dudley burrowed under the covers. This was the safest place for him now.

He must have drifted off for a while as when he opened his eyes, the duvet was half-way down the bed, his parents looking down at him.

"W-Where's Potter t-then?"

"He's gone, Duddy."

"Gone? W-What do you m-mean, gone? He did this to me!"

"I know, son. But some of… his lot came and took him away. To one of their places. He won't be back till next summer."

"T-Thank god." He shivered. "Why can't he just not come back?"

"Sshhh, don't exert yourself, sweetie." Mum pulled the covers back up and smoothed his gelled spikes down. "Me and Daddy will stay with you until you go to sleep, ok? We want our precious little boy to be all better."

' _Hand me the sick bucket.'_ "T-Thanks, Mum. D-Dad."

They smiled down at him, and Dudley closed his eyes. Although their love was smothering, he knew they would always be there for him.

 _No matter what._

* * *

He was stuck in bed for four days.

His Mum constantly fretted, doting on every single demand with all of her attention. As always, Dudley decided to use it to his advantage and managed to have actual food put in front of him only hours after his power nap when they had returned from the hospital.

Piers had checked in from time to time, Dudley laughing to himself when yesterday morning, Piers had knocked on the door so hard he had received a bellowing from Dudley's Dad as soon as the door was opened. He had given up trying to see Dudley, which was for the best, as Dudley didn't want any of his mates seeing him looking weak.

It was now Friday and he decided it was time to get out of the house. Climbing out of bed, Dudley swayed on his feet, the room spinning. He fell back down onto the bed with a curse.

He hadn't been sick since that morning! Why was he getting so weak all of a sudden?

"Fucking pussy." He snarled under his breath. "Get up and walk down the stairs. You're strong."

This mantra repeating in his head, Dudley stood up, arms thrown out to help his balance, before padding over to the door. He opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. Stretching his arms, Dudley sighed and headed over to the stairs. Walking down them, he smirked.

Today, he would catch up with his mates and have a bit of _fun._


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

"Duddykins! Good morning!"

Dudley leant against the kitchen doorframe, shooting his mother a weak smile.

"Morning," His nose wrinkled. "Is that _bacon?"_

Petunia nodded happily and gestured to the sizzling pan. "I thought you deserved a nice treat after your little… ordeal."

This was music to his ears. Too long he had gone without bacon. Always cramming healthy food down his throat… he missed the succulent taste of a fry-up breakfast.

He grinned as he moved over to the kitchen table. "Great! Hey, where's Dad?"

"Oh, Daddy got called into work early today. A company meeting." Petunia turned off the stove, added the bacon onto the plate and put the plate heaped full of food down in front of her son. "He'll be back normal time, don't worry."

Bacon was more important than his Dad right now, so Dudley simply nodded his head, beginning to cram the bacon into his mouth. The satisfying crunch in his mouth was like he was giving a middle finger to his boxing coach. The constant watching of his diet and how much food he was eating was suffocating him, and after experiencing the coldness that his freaky cousin had unleashed on him, Dudley saw no harm in consuming more food than allowed.

His mother ruffled his hair, Dudley frowning between a bite of a sausage. She needed to stop babying him, and _quickly._

Once he had finished up his breakfast, Dudley stood up, leaving his empty plate on the table and headed towards the stairs.

"Mum! I'm going out!"

"Alright, sweetie! Have a lovely time! Tell your little friends I said 'hello'! Oh, and if they ever want to come round and have some brownies, let me know!"

"Yeah, yeah…" He grumbled under his breath. "If I had a death wish…"

Grabbing some clothes and a towel from his room, Dudley shut the bathroom door behind him. He turned on the shower, tugged off his pyjama bottoms and wifebeater and checked the temperature. It was freezing cold, making the hairs on his arm rise up, but cold showers woke him up, got his blood pumping. He stepped into the shower and tilted his head back. The cold reminded him of the Dementoids, but they couldn't get him here in the bathroom of his house so he let his head fall forward and forced himself to relax into the freezing cold water.

He stepped out of the shower ten minutes later, drying himself off and throwing on a polo shirt and pair of baggy shorts, before moving back into his bedroom. Spraying himself with cologne, Dudley checked himself out in the mirror. A gold chain glistened around his neck and he styled his gelled fingers through his hair into his distinctive short spikes, winking at himself as he pulled on a pair of socks and a pair of designer trainers.

He shoved his keys into his pocket and headed downstairs, calling out:

"I'll be back a bit later!"

Opening the door, he slammed it behind him, not bothering to stay to listen to his mother's ramblings.

Dudley walked up the path, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Everyone was afraid of him in this shitty neighbourhood, and he liked it that way. He was meant to be feared. _He was Big D_. He was not to be fucked with. _At all._

Within his shorts, his fists clenched. Potter always laughed at him. Always deflated his ego and made him look stupid in front of his friends.

' _Well, not anymore. He's going to GET IT next summer.'_

He smirked at the vision of Potter with a broken arm. The freak deserved a beating, and as he ambled along the adjacent street, Dudley began to day dream about the massive pounding he was going to give Potter when he next saw him. Bruises would blossom and blood would spill, and Dudley couldn't wait to unleash pain onto Potter.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Shit!" Dudley stumbled over a loose slab of pavement, the sudden noise jolting him from his day-dream. He regained his balance and turned his head, only to find no one there.

"Down, Dursley!"

Dudley looked down sharply and was confronted with the sight of his batty old neighbour, Mrs Figg.

"Oh, what you want?"

"You are such a rude boy!" She scowled. "And I do not appreciate the foul language you came out with just now."

"You shocked me! I was walking along and you screamed like right in my ear!" His whiny pitch faded as he sneered. "Aren't witches only meant to come out at night? So why are you here?"

Mrs Figg's scowl deepened. "You are so unpleasant. Your parents should be ashamed of you."

"Well…" Dudley chuckled darkly. "They're not actually. They're proud of the fact that I'm the best boxing champion in the South East."

"Proud of the tantrums you throw? Proud of the girls you treat badly? Vernon ought to have given you a spanking when you were a little boy. That would have smacked some sense into you."

"Shut up." He rolled his eyes, incensed that Mrs Figg was lecturing him, _yet again_. They were always at war. She sniped at him, and he swore back. It was constant, but luckily for him, Mrs Figg rarely told his parents about their little encounters. Not that his parents would believe her.

"What are you doing out here anyway? After the other night, when poor Harry had to drag your sorry backside home… I'm surprised the poor boy didn't crumple under all of that weight."

Dudley narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms over his chest. "None of your business, and calling me fat ain't funny."

"I haven't called you 'fat' today." She shook her head at his stance. "Just don't cause trouble, Dursley. One day, you're going to get arrested, and your parents will have to take notice of how devious you are."

"'Devious'? I ain't hurting anyone."

"Oh, really? Don't you always pick on that Evans boy?"

Dudley smirked and stated bluntly: "He deserves it."

Mrs Figg recoiled in disgust and shooed the large teenager away. "Go on, move along! No doubt you'll be up to some trouble tonight… Mark my words, Dursley, you'll be in a spot of bother one day and Mum and Dad won't be able to help you out!"

Barging past his neighbour, Dudley grumbled under his breath: "Not likely… I'll pound anyone who tries to fuck with me."

He strode on through the streets, glancing at a nearby clock in a shop window. It was half twelve, the sun was burning bright in the sky. So why did he feel so cold?

' _This heat is making me sweat, but there's a chill going up my spine. Fuck! The Dementoids…_

He whipped his head round, attempting to see if there were any Dementoids swarming towards him. Only to remember that he hadn't been able to see the Dementoids in the alleyway.

' _Even if they're coming to get my… soul, I'm still screwed, cause I can't bloody see them!'_

The cold was too unsettling for him though and a minute later, Dudley found himself heading home, his mind occupied with the memories that the Dementoids had brought up. He winced, crossing the street and causing a group of pre-teens to scatter in fear. They watched him cautiously, confused as to why Dudley wasn't taunting them.

Big D always insulted them, but this time, he looked like he was in… pain.

The kids shared a look, before racing to the park. At least if Big D was in pain, they would be free from his torments.

* * *

Dudley slammed the door behind him and kicked off his trainers. "Mum! What's for dinner?"

"Lamb, Duddy. With all the trimmings!"

He leant against the closed front door and smiled to himself. _'More real food. Loads better than that healthy crap.'_

"Did you enjoy your walk, sweetheart?"

Dudley pushed himself away from the door and arched an eyebrow at his Mum.

"Er, how do you know I went for a walk?"

"I was hanging out the washing in the front garden and saw Mrs Figg. She said you were going for a walk." Petunia pursed her lips. "What a busybody she is. Hurried straight over to tell me. She should really concentrate on those cats of hers. They must be rabid from living in that house."

' _That's a bit rich coming from you, Mum.'_ "Did she say anything else?" He asked uneasily.

"No, only that you'll surely be back in time for dinner. I'll let you know when it's ready, popkin."

Petunia headed into the kitchen, leaving Dudley standing in the hall-way. On the one hand, he was ecstatic that Mrs Figg hadn't mentioned any of his 'deviousness' to Mum, but on the other, the slight jibe at his weight and fondness for food riled him up.

' _Won't be so gleeful when you're surrounded with a bunch of shaved cats.'_

The image of Figg's shaved cats popped into his mind, and he smirked. A bit of fun for him and his gang one night. See how the old lady liked it when her precious animals were touched.

Dudley lumbered up the stairs and into his room, dropping onto his bed like a dead weight. He was exhausted, and reckoned that a power nap would help. Shutting his eyes, he rested his head on the pillow and let sleep consume him.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

"Potter is telling lies, Minister. Why would someone set the Dementors onto him? He must have encountered them by accident. Merely a… coincidence."

"I don't trust him either, Lucius, but Potter's cousin was with him and Potter says that he cast the spell to save his cousin's life."

"His cousin?" Lucius arched an eyebrow. "From the rumours that I have heard, Potter loathes his Muggle family…" For once, he sided with Potter, as Muggles were utterly useless creatures, but he was not prepared to share his opinion with the Minister.

"This makes Potter's claim even less credible." Fudge sighed. "Alas, Dumbledore is interfering once again. Potter may have got off this time, but his web of lies will ensnare him soon."

The Minister moved towards the lift, but stopped in his tracks at Lucius's question.

"Minister… Is Potter's cousin older or younger than him?"

"Older, I believe. Lily Evans… her sister was older, so thus, I believe her sister's child is slightly older."

"Slightly older?"

"Yes." Fudge furrowed his brow. "The age difference may be a few months, or even weeks."

"So, very close in age then."

"Yes, why the importance of their age difference, Lucius?"

Lucius flashed a cold smile at Fudge. "Nothing, dear Minister. I was simply curious, as not much is known about Harry Potter's remaining family. If his cousin was of a younger age, I would have suggested that the boy was tricked into witnessing such magic, but as they are the same age…"

"But Muggles can't see Dementors!"

"I understand that, Minister." Lucius said smoothly. "I wonder what story his cousin would come out with if he was asked."

"Well, we're not going to ask him… Dumbledore stated that no one is to contact Potter's relatives."

"Very well. It would have been interesting though to gage the boy's reaction. What is his name, by the way?"

It was good that the Minister was too idiotic to question why he had asked for the boy's name. The fool gave up information far too easily.

"I believe it's… oh damn, what is the boy's name? It starts with a D… David? No, Damien? No… Ah! I know what it is!"

"Yes?..."

"Dudley. That's his name. Dudley."

A slight sneer curled his lips. "What a foul name. So befitting of a Muggle."

"I don't think it's that great either, but everyone has their own opinion. But yes, his name is Dudley and he is fifteen years old, same age as Potter. We will have to keep an eye on Dudley to see if he has been 'affected' by the 'attack.'"

"Hopefully, the 'effects' are not too severe." Lucius said with false concern.

The Minister hummed, and after bidding Lucius farewell, set off towards his office, leaving Lucius to ponder in his wake.

* * *

"Ah, Lucius. You have returned."

Swallowing down his fear, Lucius bowed deeply. "My Lord. My apologies for not returning sooner."

Voldemort remained seated in his chair in the Malfoy drawing room, Wormtail quivering at his side. He regarded Lucius coolly.

"What do you have to say for yourself? I trust you are providing me with information," At Lucius's quick nod, Voldemort hissed: "For if the news is of no use to me…"

"It will be, M-My Lord. It concerns Potter."

"Harry Potter, the boy who outlives his critically short life span. What news do you have, Lucius? Is it that the boy is dead?

"N-No, My Lord. It is about his… family."

"Ah, his parents. Dead and buried for fourteen years."

Lucius stared at the Dark Lord, wondering how to proceed. If his news displeased his Lord, then… He swallowed again. There was no point thinking about the consequences. He had to deliver the news, and quickly.

Choosing to not linger on Potter's parents, he murmured: "His Muggle relatives, My Lord. His Mother's sister, her husband and their son."

" _Filth."_

"Indeed. I feel that they will be… useful, in defeating Potter."

"Useful?" Voldemort sneered. "Muggles are pathetic creatures. Potter's aunt has no magic within her veins. Her Mudblood sister received all of the power. Potter's aunt is _ordinary."_

"I m-met Petunia a-a few t-times." Wormtail squeaked. "S-she was s-so cold and b-bitter."

The next few seconds were a blur, but it all ended with Wormtail writhing on the floor and Voldemort slipping his wand back into his sleeve.

"Now that there are no more interruptions, continue, Lucius."

"W-Well, Potter's cousin. He could be used. They are of the same age and if the boy truly did see Dementors, from the Dementor Attack I informed you about before, My Lord, then he will still be feeling the symptoms of the attack."

Voldemort surveyed Lucius with interest. "Intriguing. I could use the Muggle boy to kill Harry Potter. Use _his body_ to kill Potter. Potter will die at the hands of his cousin."

Lucius's hands twitched behind his back as Voldemort threw his arms out.

"Excellent idea, Lucius! I will break down this Muggle boy, then kill Harry Potter." He lowered his arms. "The boy's name?"

" _Dudley."_ His follower curled his lip. "I assure you, My Lord, the very name screams Muggle filth."

Voldemort sat back with a smirk and gestured lazily to a still writhing Wormtail.

"Find the Muggle boy. Find him and put this curse on him…" Voldemort summoned Wormtail to his feet and hissed words into the quivering form's ear.

Stumbling backwards, Wormtail mumbled: "Of course, Master. I s-still r-remember where P-Petunia and her f-family live. I s-shall go at once."

As he vanished from sight, Voldemort waved a hand at Lucius. "Leave my sight. You have done well, Lucius."

Bowing, Lucius accepted the praise and retreated from the room. Voldemort waited until the door had closed before letting out a cackle. Years and years, Harry Potter had evaded him, but now, the boy would die at the hands of his cousin and he would be free to lead the magic world into a new era.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The Muggle was in the house.

Hidden in the bushes, Wormtail surveyed the house with interest. Manicured front lawn, blooming flowers. It was a perfect little house in a perfect neighbourhood. One that happened to house his Master's mortal enemy for short periods of time. But Master wanted the cousin, not Potter.

He had watched the house for hours, every little movement making him twitch. At one moment, the front door had opened and he had been prepared to spring out of the bushes and place the curse onto the boy before any alarm could be raised. Alas to his misery, a woman had stepped out of the house, bending down to tend to the flowerbed. He had recognised her though, and Wormtail had watched Petunia Evans care for her flowers with sadness panging in his chest. He had only met Petunia once, years ago, but there was a slight resemblance to Lily in the woman, and the reminder of his betrayal spurned even more self-loathing.

His small eyes flickered from Petunia to the front door. His past could not tamper with his objective and he needed to keep an eye on the house. A description of Potter's cousin played over and over in his mind, and he waited for a sighting of the burly blond-haired teenager. The difference in physicality between the two cousins was astounding and Wormtail felt the pressure build to catch the correct person. If he ended up putting the curse on a boy that wasn't the cousin… His silver hand twitched, and he squeaked in fear.

Fortunately, his squeak didn't alarm Petunia and she retreated into the house, flowers tended. He twitched in the bushes, wondering whether to use magic to draw the boy out. But with what? What did Muggle boys like?

As he debated on what to do, the loud honk of a car startled him and he resisted the urge to transform. The car stopped on the driveway of the house he was surveying, door flinging open, only to reveal the biggest man he had ever seen. Red faced and sweaty, the huge man barged into the house, slamming the front door behind him. As Wormtail tried to concentrate on ridding the ringing sounds from his ears, the front door opened again. A teenage boy stepped out and Wormtail recoiled in shock. Was this truly the cousin? He was blond and big, as he had been informed, but he looked much older than fifteen.

' _I must get the correct boy, otherwise Master will hurt me.'_

He flinched at the screams that filled his head, screams from the past that haunted him till this day. Sinking low to the ground from the pressure, Wormtail kept his eyes on the boy, whimpering painfully as the boy suddenly shot off down the path. Wormtail scrambled to his feet and peered into the distance. The boy's retreating figure was moving at a fast pace and he seemed to be dressed for exercise. He would never be able to catch up to the boy at this rate, and he dared not risk apparating in a Muggle neighbourhood.

He would simply have to wait for the Muggle to return.

* * *

Dudley pounded the pavement, the fateful night replaying over and over in his mind. If he had been stronger… If he could do magic…

Shaking his head at those thought - traitorous to his parents - his head bobbed up and down to the music blaring through his headphones. The music he listened to was violent and graphic, and he felt energy surge through him, arms and legs pumping. He ran five miles every day, but already his chest was tightening from the effort. Dudley slowed down to a walk, sighing in annoyance. That damn night of the Dementoids kept plaguing him and he wished for it all to go away.

 _He couldn't wait to get his hands on Potter. This was all his fault._

He turned back, beginning the slow walk home as he lowered the volume of his music. He was sure that he could hear a faint sound in the distance, but no one in the neighbourhood had the guts to stand up to him. For fear of a broken nose.

Dudley strolled towards his house, mind wandering, and was enjoying listening to his music when a sudden rustling made him pause his music and stop dead in his tracks.

Sliding off his headphones, he called out. "Hello? Who's there?"

His blue eyes, narrowed in suspicion, scanned the area. His fear levels were spiking and he placed sole blame on his freaky cousin for making him so scared of anything unnatural.

"Piers, I swear to God if that's you, I'm gonna fucking pound you." The rustling started up again and Dudley slowly stepped back. "I'm not kidding! Get out here and face me!"

' _Oh fuck, that sounded cliché.'_

The rustling stopped. Dudley exhaled a breath he hadn't known he had been keeping in. Whoever it was, was just messing around and clearly, his warning had caused them to back off. He swaggered forwards, about to put his headphones back on, until a sharp jolt radiated around his body which forced him to stop again.

Dudley dropped his headphones, the wire tangling together, as his legs involuntary bent. He pitched sideways, but small hands scrabbled for purchase on his jacket and seconds later, he was lowered onto a nearby bench. Blinking back oncoming darkness, Dudley tried to see who was handling him, but another sharp pain sent him shuddering into unconsciousness.

Wormtail panted in exasperation. The boy was heavy to support! He peered down at his slack face, praying that he didn't abruptly wake up before he had time to make his escape, and attempted to mask his glee.

His Master would be pleased with him. He had achieved his objective and would return to Malfoy Manor without fear of consequences.

Wormtail stared down at the nephew of his deceased best friends and whispered:

"You will be helping my Master out. My Master will soon dominate the world of both Magic _and_ Muggles and your aid will be needed. Whether you want too or not, will not be up for d-discussion."

He needed to leave before he was caught talking to an unconscious boy, but he wanted to gloat. Thanks to him, the Dark Lord could proceed with the next stage of his plan and as Wormtail reluctantly slunk away from the teenager on the bench, he allowed a small smile to come to his face before disapparating from the quiet Muggle neighbourhood.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Awaking to streaks of orange and blue in the sky, Dudley wondered if he was dreaming. Ever since the night the lights had gone out in Little Whinging, he struggled to maintain sane thoughts. Night-time approached and he would snap his eyes shut, only to be thrown back to that moment in the alley-way, where a mystical glowing shape saved him from the darkness and the memories, the terrible memories.

He slowly sat up, trying to remember what happened. He had gone for a run, his chest had felt too tight, his breathing rough and he had decided to turn back. Something had rustled in the bushes…

Dudley glanced over at the row of bushes, nervously wondering if anything was going to jump out at him. If it was one of those Dementoid things, then he wouldn't know. He hadn't even seen them when they attacked him and Potter. All he had felt was coldness, and right now, he was freezing. He clutched his music player and stood up, looking from left to right. He needed to get home before he was attacked again. Whatever had made him black out – he rejected the notion that he had fallen asleep – could still be out there and Dudley found himself moving quickly towards his house, not daring to look back for fear of glimpsing something abnormal.

As he staggered along the pavement, he encountered the sight of batty old Mrs Figg, a legion of cats surrounding her. Dudley rolled his eyes at the glare that was directed at him, puffing his chest out in an attempt to intimidate.

"What you looking at? Shouldn't you and your little furballs be at home? Not stalking me, like you always fucking do!"

His swearing didn't even make his neighbour bat an eyelid, but a look of fury came over her face as she hissed back at him.

"You are vile, Dudley Dursley. Swanning about as if you own the place. And," She moved towards him, her cats brushing against her legs. "Do not even deny it!"

"Deny what?" Dudley growled, struggling to maintain his balance.

"Deny that you are _drunk!_ I've seen you and your little friends drinking in the park, in broad daylight!" She shook her head in disgust. "You are an absolute disgrace to your family!"

"Oh, that's rich." He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. "So what if I drink a bit? That's none of your business. And you're calling _me,_ a 'disgrace'? How about my fucked up cousin?! Do you know how freaky he is?! At least _I_ have friends!"

"Yes, well, your friends are filthy little boys and Harry has a better future than you."

"Does he?" Dudley snarled. "Yeah, going to St Brutus's is really gonna work out for him. And by the way, I'm not drunk, but I wish I was so I could forget this bloody conversation."

"Mmh, St Brutus's. More suited to the likes of you than Harry Potter."

' _Why did her voice go all weird when I mentioned the cover school for Potter? If she really knew what school he went to, the old bird would have a heart attack… Why am I still talking to her anyway?!'_

Plastering on a sneering smile, Dudley remarked: "Well, it's been nice and all, but I need to get home. Cause, you know, I actually have people who care about me."

"Oh, what? Unlike me?" Mrs Figg gestured to her cats. "I have all the companionship I need, and unlike _you_ Dursley, I am content."

He snorted and stepped round her. "Whatever."

She watched him walk a few steps before stopping him in his tracks with her words. "One day, you'll be in prison and Mummy and Daddy won't be able to help you out."

Dudley whipped round at break-neck speed, his face contorted with loathing.

"Shut the hell up. One day, you'll be dead in the ground, your bloody cats will be long gone and no one else will give a damn about whether you were in pain or not when you died." He curled his lip. "No one will miss an old bag like _you."_

He had rendered her speechless, and the feeling of power he gained was so satisfying that he decided to relish the moment. Dudley stuck his middle finger up at his neighbour, grinning triumphantly, then turned back round and continued stumbling on down the street.

As soon as he got home, he was fussed over by his mother and Dudley fended off her affections with a weary arm, choosing to dig into his cooling dinner. Once he had finished his meal, Dudley rubbed his eyes fiercely with the back of his hand. Whatever made him black out had caused him a serious headache, and he needed to stop _thinking_ and let his mind be filled with trash.

Cue the television. Dudley lumbered over to the sofa, sitting down next to his father. The programme on the television made him zone out straight away, and sleep threatened to overtake him. If it were not for the sudden appearance of his mother, he would have been snoring away on the sofa as if he were eighty five.

"Duddy? Would you and Daddy like some sweeties to eat?"

Dudley fought back the shudder at his mother's baby voice, and eyed up the bowl of treats she had brought over. Chocolate filled his vision and he subconsciously licked his lips. It was so tempting to stuff his face after the trauma of the Dementoid incident, but he had promised his boxing coach to not move up any higher on the weight scale before returning to school, so with a heavy heart, he shook his head.

"Can't, Mum. I promised Coach I wouldn't. Can I have an apple instead?"

"Of course, honey." Petunia pinched his cheek, beaming broadly at him and Dudley mustered up a smile in return. He loved his mother, but she was too much some times.

When he had the apple in hand, Dudley took a huge chunk out of it and sat back, planning his day tomorrow. He would need to have a day out of the house, away from his mother's indulgence, plus he wanted to hang out with his mates.

As his father tucked into the bowl of chocolate next to him, Dudley crunched apple skin between his teeth, the juice spilling down his chin.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

The park was _theirs._ No one dared go against them when they turned up. People could give them disapproving looks or glare at them with spite, but the five of them didn't care. Not enough courage could be mustered up to challenge them, and when the leader of the gang was a heavyweight boxing champion, the chances of anyone stepping in to intervene drastically dropped. The five boys in the gang were all feared, particularly by the young children that they bullied, but there was one small boy who feared them the most. He feared the gang - Dudley really, it was mainly him - and would try to avoid him, and the others, as much as possible. But on this warm August day, Mark Evans could not avoid his fate.

Dudley exhaled, watching the smoke drift up into the air, the cigarette pinched between his fingers. He sat down heavily on a bench, snorting at the initials carved into the woodwork. Love was shit. He had never been in love, and didn't think he ever would be. His parents saw his future as married, with kids and a high position at his father's company. Dudley snorted again. Like hell that would ever happen.

' _I ain't having kids, little brats running around my feet all day? Hell no. Life goal: Professional Boxer. If Mum and Dad don't like it, well, fuck 'em. They'll have to go without grandkids. I guess if Potter has some… but they'd be freaks… and who the hell would want to sleep with Potter?'_

"Oi, D! You got any fags?"

Dennis approached him, grinning in excitement. Dudley didn't know why. He wasn't going to give him his fags. He never gave anything out, he only ever took.

"Nah."

"But you're smoking one right there."

Dudley narrowed his eyes, abruptly grounding the lit cigarette into the arm of the bench. "Not anymore. Get your own fags, Dennis."

"I can't! Mum found mine under my bed! She went mental and now I can't get any! _Please?"_

His whining was grating on Dudley's nerves. He was allowed to hang round with Big D, and he was trying to get Big D's own personal stash for his own use? _No chance._

Dennis didn't have time to avoid the large fist that swarmed his vision, and he promptly fell backwards in shock, pain exploding across his forehead. Already feeling a bruise forming, Dennis stared up at Dudley in astonishment.

"What the fuck?! Why'd you hit me?"

Sitting down where he had been seconds earlier, Dudley grunted: "Felt like it. Now, stop whining like a little pussy. Piers will give you some when he gets here."

Dennis pulled himself to his feet, touching his forehead with a pained wince.

"God sake," Dudley flicked the extinguished cigarette away. "I didn't hit you that hard."

"I think-"

"Oi! Dennis! Why's your face fucked up?"

The rest of the gang came up behind the bench that Dudley was sitting on, and bombarded Dennis with questions about his rapidly bruising forehead. Upon explaining what had happened, Piers, Gordon and Malcolm turned their attention towards Dudley.

Praise was lavished on him, and Dudley smirked. Dennis was throwing a little strop about how his mum would react, but Dudley tuned him out. He couldn't stand people moaning, especially when they were complaining about the results of his actions.

"D, you alright now?"

Dudley sighed internally. Trust his best friend to be the one to ask about his well-being. Piers was always the one who asked him if he was alright. He had done when he had been trapped at the zoo, in the snake tank at eleven years old and when he had been told by the school nurse, only last year, that he was at a dangerously unhealthy weight. Everyone had laughed at him when he was fat, but never Piers. His best friend had stuck by him, and Dudley valued his friendship.

"Yeah. Potter's gone back to St Brutus's though. Thank God."

"Oh." Malcolm twisted his face up so much that Dudley thought he was shitting himself. "I wanted to take the piss out of him!"

"Yeah, well, he's gone. So, deal with it."

Malcolm stopped speaking at that point, wary of Dudley's temper and not wanting to share the same fate as Dennis. They mucked about for awhile, before moving over to the park equipment. Any of the children playing scattered at the sight of them, and as Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon chased any stragglers away, Dudley and Piers ambled over to the swings. They sat down next to each other, their body weight slowly swinging them back and forth.

Piers glanced side-ways at Dudley, before staring forwards, the sounds of cars zooming down the motorway in the distance.

"Are you sure you're alright? After that tornado the other night..."

"Tornado?" Dudley snorted, understanding the reference to the night in question. "It was a bit of wind, and I'm fine. You sound like my fucking Mum, give it a rest."

"I was only asking cause you ran off with Potter, and after that, you were sick. I didn't know if he did anything-"

"What would he do? He's a freak, a loner. He can't do nothing to me."

"Just as long as you're alright."

"For fuck sake! Shut up! _I am fine._ I was sick for a bit, now I'm fine. You bring any weed?"

"Nah." Piers scuffed the ground. "Forgot to get any."

"I swear, you're so stupid. Don't know why I keep you around anyway."

There was a slight pause, before the response: "I'm your f-friend!"

The quiver in his voice made Dudley look at his best friend, and the hurt on his face was so pathetic that Dudley had to contain a bark of laughter. Instead, he shook his head in exasperation.

"Relax, I'm not gonna kick you out of the gang. Just bring me weed next time."

"We usually share it though."

"Whatever. I'm the only one smart enough to not get caught by my parents, unlike you lot."

"Mum and Dad ain't caught me yet."

Dudley rolled his eyes. "They will do. You green out whenever we have any."

"I don't!"

"You puke everywhere, man. It's well funny, though."

"Shut up." Piers socked Dudley's arm playfully, a smile stretching his thin features. Dudley shoved him back, Piers falling off the swing. Dudley bellowed with laughter.

"Bloody hell, man! I needed that… I needed that…"

His cryptic whisperings confused Piers, and worry panged him when Dudley suddenly clutched his head, wincing in pain.

"Alright?"

He waited for the spike of pain to pass, before raising his head up and responding.

"Alright."

The others were spinning themselves round on the roundabout, and Dudley and Piers, after composing themselves, joined them. Dudley spun the roundabout with all of his strength, watching in glee as his friends desperately held onto the bars. Dudley stepped back as Malcolm sprayed vomit towards him, the sick splattering in front of his shoes.

Enraged at the possibility of having sick all over his limited edition Nike shoes, Dudley glared murderously at Malcolm, who had jumped off of the roundabout and was now staggering over to be sick again in the bushes. Dudley thought about smacking him in the back of the head for revenge, but decided against it. He'd probably crack Malcolm's skull open if he clobbered him.

"Oi, look!"

Gordon thrust his finger towards a small figure by the edge of the park. A cautious figure, one that was instantly recognisable, dithered by the grass. Dudley's lips twisted into a gleeful sneer. Mark Evans, the little shit, was going to get it for trespassing. It seemed that no matter how many times he hit him, Evans still didn't get the message.

Pushing back his shoulders, Dudley swaggered over to the ten year old, hollering:

"Look here, lads! A stray retard has flown from its nest!"

Laughter boomed around him and Dudley's sneer grew more pronounced as he came to a stop in front of Mark Evans.

"Alright, _Evans?"_

The younger boy trembled, voice stuttering out the syllables of his tormentor's name. "D-D-Dudley… I-I-I…"

"Now, _Evans,_ have you forgotten the little conversation we had before?"

By now, the rest of his friends had joined him and they waited eagerly in anticipation. They had placed themselves slightly behind Dudley. He was always in front.

"Y-You s-s-said…"

"I said that if I ever saw your ugly little mug again, I'd rip it off," Evans squeaked and Dudley's cheek twitched with concealed laughter. "So, _Evans…"_

He leant down, his massive frame dwarfing the younger boy. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I-I-I-"

"Stop stuttering, _you freak."_

His mates laughed, Evans cowed and Dudley wanted more of a reaction, so pushed the boy back with his large hand.

"Well? You know we own this park, so what you doing here?"

"I-I came to r-read."

Having not noticed the book lodged under Evans's arm until now, Dudley yanked it away from him with ease and examined the front cover.

"Oliver Twist… Piers, didn't we read this in primary school?"

"Yeah. It sucked."

Mark Evans flinched back at the menacing glare Piers was directing at him, before stepping back as Dudley advanced on him, book held high.

"Why you reading this shit?"

"I-I like r-reading-"

Immediately, Dennis cracked up laughing. Malcolm and Gordon exchanged a devious look, Piers smirking at Evans. Dudley flipped open the book to a page near the middle and with his other hand, tore out a chunk of paper.

"You still like it now?"

Eyes bulging in horror, Mark darted forward, grappling with bigger hands in order to stop his book from being torn to shreds. "D-D-Dudley, p-please, NO!"

" _You telling me what to do?"_ Dudley hissed, sending a punch into Evans's stomach, his clenched fist still containing shredded bits of pages. Evans cried out and fell to the ground, the shredded pages fluttering in the air and bathing him in paper.

"Hit him again, Big D!" Dennis hollered. "Show him he don't mess with us!"

Tossing the ruined book behind his shoulder, not bothering to check if someone had caught it, Dudley delivered another punch to Evans's bruised and painful stomach. The boy screamed in pain, legs curling up and hands flying to his stomach. Dudley loomed over him, smirking in triumph.

"D, we've ripped the rest of his book up. What should we do with it?"

The smirk widened. "Make him eat the paper." He stepped around Evans, cringing at the loud frightened wails that rose from their victim and moved over to the alleyway, taking out his packet of cigarettes. Dudley slid one out, shoving the packet back into his pocket, then lit the fag with his lighter. He put it between his lips and inhaled, enjoying the sound of muffled screams behind him, his gang slapping and shouting at Evans.

' _The kid is such a pussy. Screams and cries all the time. Well, next time, he'll know what to expect if he gets in our way.'_

Dudley exhaled the smoke, chucked the cigarette away, where it burned in the middle of the alleyway like a spark illuminating a cave, and analysed the graffitied walls. Art stemming from three years to two weeks ago covered the entire alleyway, and he snorted at the crude drawings made by a drunk Malcolm last year. His friend had been completely off his head, thanks to the addition of weed, and he'd only found out what he had drawn the next day, when dealing with a severe hangover.

"D, you want some vodka?"

Dudley turned round, spotting Evans crumbled up on the ground, sobbing loudly with his mouth crammed full of paper, and grinned wickedly.

"Yeah, give me it." He snatched the bottle out of Gordon's hand, who had retrieved the alcohol from the small bag slung round his front, and took a big swig of the bottle. Fighting the urge to shudder, Dudley swallowed and brushed the back of his hand over his mouth, passing the bottle to Piers.

"You drink that like it don't even affect you." Gordon said, awed.

"It don't." Dudley laughed as Piers gagged, spitting the vodka out onto the ground. "I can drink anything and stay sober, unlike you lot."

"Swear you got drunk at George's party last month."

Dudley narrowed his eyes at Dennis, hand grabbing the bottle out of Piers's hand. He took another swig, this time for longer, then pushed it into Dennis's hands, growling:

"You were way more pissed than me. I can take my drink, you can't."

"I can!"

Folding his arms over his chest, Dudley gestured to the bottle with a nod. "Go on then."

As Dennis necked the bottle, Dudley watched Gordon and Malcolm wrestle with each other, Piers egging them on. A brief look showed that Evans had run off, only the shredded book pages remaining in his wake. He looked down the alleyway again and shivered. A coil of cold crept up his spine. The hairs on his arms rose and goose bumps broke out over his body. He exhaled a long deep breath and nearly swore out loud. Did his breath come out as mist?

The events of the Dementoid Attack hit him full-on, and he recoiled in horror. If that glowing shape hadn't made those Dementoid things or whatever it was that made it cold, go away, then would he still be here?...

Dudley noticed that his mates were all staring at him. Before any of them could question his actions, he snatched the bottle once again and cried:

"I wanna get shit-faced. Got any more vodka?"


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Wormtail scuttled into the room, taking to a knee as his head quivered side to side. His Master sent fear shooting into him at all times, even when the Dark Lord was not in the same area as him. Despite him completing his task, Wormtail was still petrified. Any mistakes that he could potentially have made during his encounter with the Dursley boy would be picked apart, and he would be punished.

He shuddered. The punishments were unbearable, and he hunched in on himself as his Master approached him.

"Stand."

Wormtail shakily stood up, keeping his head lowered. He would only look at his Master when the order was given to look, and even then, direct eye contact would not be made.

"Have you completed your task, Wormtail? Do not waste your breath if you have failed me."

"I-I have not f-failed, Master. The b-boy has been cursed."

"Excellent." Voldemort's thin lips twitched into a smirk. "How did you accomplish this?"

"I-I followed the boy. He nearly spotted me… I-I was hiding in the b-bushes and managed to curse him when his back was turned." He paused, his next words slipping free without any thought. "The boy doesn't resemble James or Lily, or Petunia for that m-matter. Certainly doesn't look like Harry-"

A flourish of a wand later, Voldemort was standing over a writhing Wormtail, the small man's screams echoing around the room.

"I do not care for the boy's appearance. You have completed your task and now the boy will be easy to keep track of through the curse. Your ramblings are not needed."

Gasping and pleading for forgiveness, Wormtail was silenced by another flick of the wand.

"Enough. Although I find your screams pleasurable, now is the time to put my plans into place. The Dursley boy will be under my control, and Harry Potter, the _boy who lived_ , will fall."

Voldemort swished his wand through the air, Wormtail regaining his ability to speak.

"I have no further use of you now. Leave."

He watched as his servant scrambled to his feet, bowing hastily with tears running down his face, before fleeing from the room. Voldemort turned on his heel, moving over to sit on his throne. He settled himself down on the chair and picked up the oval shaped mirror that was placed on a small table beside the throne. He held the mirror up and tapped his wand against the glass, hissing a string of words. The figure that appeared in the mirror was of the intended key piece to his plans. The Dursley boy was currently out in the streets, mingling with his Muggle friends, partaking in no productive values.

The curse that Wormtail had successfully placed onto the boy, allowed Voldemort to watch the boy through the mirror he currently held in his hand. Every little movement, every action and each word from the Muggle would no longer be private, as _he_ would be a voyeur in every aspect of the boy's life.

The Dursley boy would be constantly watched, and when the time was right, he would strike, and Harry Potter would be none the wiser to what was happening to his cousin before it was too late.

By then, both the Magical and Muggle worlds would be his, and both Harry Potter would be dead at his feet.

As for Dudley Dursley, he would most likely be lying alongside with his cousin, dead at his feet. Where the filthy little Muggle belonged.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Clocks in homes chimed midnight, streetlights dimmed in the pure darkness, and Dudley Dursley stumbled over the threshold of his house, gently closing the front door behind him. He was pissed out of his head, and felt the urge to be sick. The sooner he threw up, the quicker he could collapse into bed. The thought of his soft sheets lured him straight upstairs, and Dudley staggered down the landing towards his bedroom. Fortunately, his door was wide open, his room clean and tidy so all he had to do was change into his pyjamas and crawl into bed.

Which is easier said than done when you were really drunk.

The pressing issue of needing to be sick came first though, so diverting off his path, Dudley fell to his knees in the bathroom and stuck his head into the toilet. As he threw up into the toilet, a door further down the landing creaked open, dainty footsteps approaching the bathroom.

"Diddykins? Is that you?"

With his head in the toilet, Dudley couldn't bite back in a sarcastic manner, let alone even talk. He heard his mother come in and felt her small hand rub his back. This action seemed to soothe his stomach and he slowly raised his head up.

"Are you okay, Diddy? It's awfully late. Did you stay for dessert too?"

The usual excuse of going round a mate's house for tea whenever he went out flashed into his mind and he nodded, wincing at moving his head so fast.

"Y-Yeah…" His voice came out slurred. "I-I think I a-ate too much though. I feel really s-sick."

"Still?" His mum put the back of her hand up to his forehead. "Oh, Duddy, you're burning up! Here, let me tuck you into bed and I'll give you some nice hot cocoa. Would you like that, munchkin?"

The terms of endearment were too much nowadays, but he had to keep up the pretence, otherwise he would have to deal with his mother's hurt feelings. Petunia moved her hand to his gelled hair and started smoothing it down, as she awaited his response.

"Er… not t-tonight, Mum. Just wanna go to bed. T-Thanks, though."

The look of disappointment on her face should have flared up some emotion within him, but he was far too drunk to even care. He staggered towards the open doorway, wiping his mouth with the collar of his shirt. Behind him, his mother hovered and Dudley dismissed her with a wave of the hand as he stumbled down the landing.

"Go b-back to b-bed, Mum."

At his command, she trotted off back to her bedroom, the opening of the door blasting out his father's loud snores. Dudley's ears rang with all the noise and he lumbered into his room, shutting the door as quietly as his fumbling hands could manage on the door handle. Slowly, he surveyed his sparkling clean room. Mum had attacked the four walls with a hoover, duster and polish, putting every item away in the correct place and judging by the slight exposure in one of his drawers, his mother had stuffed every single explicit CD, X rated magazine and even taken down his poster of a half-naked woman. If she thought she was doing him a favour of 'protecting his innocence', then she was dead wrong.

' _She don't know nothing. I'll have to put that poster back up in the morning.'_

He shrugged off his jacket, leaving it curled up on the floor as he took off his shirt and belt. He kicked off his shoes and jeans, then pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt. Dudley pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, preparing to go to sleep when his bedroom door shifted and his mother's face appeared in the doorway.

Dudley groaned and struggled to sit up. "M-Mum… I'm t-tired… What do you w-want?…"

"I only wanted to make sure that you were okay, baby. You look very pale. Do you want me to sit with you?"

"No, Mum! I literally just want to go to sleep! Go back to bed!"

Petunia's face dissolved into one of pain, and Dudley internally cringed.

' _Don't cry. I can't handle it now, do it in the morning. When I'm sober.'_

"M-Mum, Mum, please. It's the middle of the n-night. Please g-go to sleep."

"But you're slurring your words, darling. What if you have the flu?!"

"I'll sleep it off," Dudley mustered up a smile. "Promise you Mum, I just ate a bit too much. S'all."

"Okay, if you're sure, sweetie."

"Yeah. Don't worry about me, Mum. Nothing wrong with me at all."

"Because you're my big strong boy!" Petunia blew kisses to her son, whose pale pallor reddened with embarrassment. He was fifteen, for Christ sake, not five! Dudley wiggled his fingers back, then dropped his head back onto the pillow, closing his eyes. Hopefully, Mum would take the hint and leave him alone.

Thankfully, she did and with a whispered loving comment, the door shut and Dudley, his eyes now open again, was left in peace. Apart from the fact that his light, switched on when he had first entered the room, was still shining overhead.

"Oh god, that light is so fucking bright…" Dudley threw the covers over his head so that his vision was shielded from the light. He had to turn it off, but he was far too lazy to get out of bed, turn it off and retreat back to bed. Plus, he was still drunk as fuck, and was curled up under the covers, where he intended to stay. So, as per usual, he got his parents to do it for him.

Dudley stuck his head out from under the covers, took a deep breath and bellowed:

"MUM! MUM!"

A barrage of footsteps erupted onto the landing and seconds later, both his parents burst into his bedroom, his mother hysterical with fright and his father panting and wheezing.

"Dudders, is it that… those D-Dementoid things…"

"What's wrong, pumpkin?! _Are you having a nightmare?!"_

"Nah." Dudley pointed to the light switch. "Can you turn it off? I can't sleep with it on."

"Oh," Petunia put her hand to her chest, smile wrinkling her features. "Of course, Duddy. I'm sorry, honey, I must have forgotten to turn it off."

' _Well, duh.'_

His dad, still half-asleep, nodded at his son. "You have a good time with your friends, Dud?"

"Yeah, it was… great."

"Good, good… Well, I'd love to talk more, son, but I'm exhausted. I've got some paperwork to catch up on tomorrow because there's a few idiots in the office who can't-"

"Yeah, okay. Night Dad."

Vernon smiled at his son before leaving the room, Petunia blowing one more kiss and flicking the light off, closing the door gently. Dudley threw the covers once more over his head and sighed in relief. At least he wasn't actually having any nightmares. That shit he couldn't deal with tonight.

It took a while, but he eventually drifted off, completely curled up under the duvet, only the tip of his blond head visible above the quilt.

* * *

Voldemort stared into the mirror at the sleeping boy and wondered how two people could produce such a brat. Potter was a brat, one who had outlived his expiration date on this world by fourteen years, but his cousin was an extremity. A piece of filth, 'raised', by a couple of filthy Muggle leeches, who would go through life not accomplishing anything that could be achieved in his pathetic excuse of an existence.

He watched the bundle of covers shift and squirm, similar to a pig caught in a trap, and sneered. The boy was of low intelligence and a simple mind. He would be easy to break.

Using a powerful Legilimency spell, Voldemort surged his mind through the mirror and into the boy's own mind. It was easy to do so, no barriers were erected to keep anyone out and he began to shift through the boy's memories.


	9. Chapter 9

**Italics are dialogue from a previous chapter, repeated in the memory.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER NINE**

A Muggle park was the landscape, and at the heart of it, the Dursley boy and his fellow filthy friends tormented a small Muggle weakling. The boy, seemingly named 'Evans', was afraid of the boys, but with the Dursley boy, there was genuine fear. A fear so deep that it consumed the Evans boy to the core, and he stood trembling before the Dursley boy, caught in headlights, similar to a hunted animal.

" _Well? You know we own this park, so what you doing here?"_ Potter's cousin was uncouth, his tone deep and rough.

" _I-I came to r-read."_

A book that the younger boy was holding was grabbed from his possession, the Dursley boy examining it with bemusement. Most likely, the idiotic oaf had never finished reading a book cover to cover in his entire existence.

" _Oliver Twist… Piers, didn't we read this in primary school?"_

One of the Muggles, a wretchedly thin boy with a bad case of acne and who had a face that resembled a rat, spoke up.

" _Yeah. It sucked."_

The rat boy glared at the Evans child from under his baseball cap, grinning wickedly as the boy flinched, then stepped back at movement from the Dursley creature.

" _Why you reading this shit?"_

The boy's language was awful, and Voldemort wished to hex the boy until he was quivering beneath his feet, where he belonged. But for now, he would watch and wait for the correct opportunity to strike.

" _I-I like r-reading-"_

Another one of the followers, a blond lank-haired boy with a bruise forming on his forehead, started to laugh, the rat boy's grin shifting to a smirk. The other two followers, one wearing a brightly coloured tracksuit, the other sporting a scar on his right cheek, exchanged their shared pleasure at their leader's antics by grinning at one another.

These Muggle children were foolish, and all Voldemort wanted to do was inflict pain on them.

The Dursley brat tore up the book, then finished off his torment by battering the Evans child with his huge fists, his filthy friends laughing and proceeding to stuff their victim's mouth with shreds of paper. Voldemort watched the memory's events coldly. He did not care one bit for the child, but rage started to bubble underneath the surface when he spotted Dursley smoking a cigarette. The boy's lungs could rot away for all he cared, but if he was going to use him effectively, the boy _had_ to be healthy and the cigarettes would need to be cut out of his system.

The Evans boy was crying hysterically, mouth filled with paper, and Dudley Dursley had moved on from ingesting nicotine to downing pure alcohol, another self-destructive method that would need to be cut out before the damage was done.

He watched the Dursley boy argue with his rat friend, and thought of Potter and his crowd of blood traitors and Mudbloods. They congregated among the same type of livestock, but the two cousins were completely different. Potter belonged in an unmarked grave, but Dursley was scum. No talent, no magical ability, a waste of space. The only attribute he had was his hatred of Potter. A hatred that could be moulded into an act of greatness with the Dark Lord in control.

Intrigued by the sudden action of the Dursley boy, who was staring down the nearby alleyway, Voldemort moved closer, the edges of the memory shrouding away in grey mist behind him as he approached the gang of boys. From his new position, he could see that the Dursley boy was shivering. Clear from the sweat patches under his massive arms, it wasn't from any cold temperature. Something was clearly upsetting the boy, and a quick shift through his memories would bring the issue to light. As Dudley continued to drink the alcohol that he had snatched, Voldemort pulled out of the memory and browsed through the boy's mind. He hovered over memories from the last few days, but one memory that was still fresh that may be able to provide an answer was of the Dementor Attack that Lucius had informed him of, where the boy and his cousin had ended up at the mercy of the Dementors, until Potter had performed the Patronus spell to ward them off. He had saved his older cousin's life, even though it was not worth saving.

Voldemort delved into the memory, watching the events unfold in delight. Harry Potter may have been able to save his worthless cousin that night, but now he had wormed his way into the boy's mind, all chances of Dudley Dursley being saved were slipping away and would soon be out of reach. For his plan was to exploit the curse that Wormtail had placed on the boy to its full potential, by warping his dreams and breaking the pathetic Muggle down enough so that he could enact his revenge on Harry Potter and finally defeat the 'Boy Who Lived'. Extracting himself fully from the boy's mind, Voldemort smirked as he put the mirror aside.

The sweet benefit of the curse was that it broke through the protections placed on the Dursley child. Every memory and thought was now exposed to him, and with the brat broken and in pieces, Potter would come to save his blood relative and inevitably fall into his hands.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Dudley woke up at the early hour of eleven in the morning and his first action of the day was to groan in discomfort. His head pounded, he was shattered and the room was swaying. And he hadn't even got out of the damn bed yet. He groaned again, slowly pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"Oh fuck, that hurt. What the hell did I drink last night?..."

His room was still tidy from his mum's deep spring clean, his clothes from last night crumbled up in the corner, but something felt off.

' _Probably didn't drink enough. Oh, I've gotta lie down.'_

Dudley slammed his back onto the mattress, throwing his arms up to shield his eyes. Leaving the house sounded like his worst nightmare at that moment, so the best cure for his hangover was video games. He'd recently been given Mortal Kombat 3 as a treat for washing his plate one evening and wanted to lose himself in mindless violence. Maybe he could cure his hangover with the sight of bloodshed? Even if it didn't help, he was still in the mood for beating people up.

As he sluggishly moved down his bed, struggling to turn on his television and load up the console, Dudley nabbed his controller and fell back onto his bed, craning his head up so that he could see the TV.

' _Maybe I could test out some of these moves on Evans later?'_ He mused wickedly as the game loaded and he began selecting his character. Character chosen, he immersed himself in the violence, imagining that he was pounding Evans into the ground.

He played for hours on end, only breaking to shout for his Mum to bring up food for him. Hungover or not, he was still eating. He needed to keep his strength and energy up! Although not stuff his face to the point where he gained back all the weight he had lost. A shudder rippled through his body at that thought. The scrutiny he had been placed under by the school nurse was one of his worst memories. In retrospect, his humiliation at the hands of the school nurse had been brought up in the alley the other night…

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, Dudley plunged back into his seventy third match, the wafting smell of dinner downstairs making his stomach rumble impatiently.

* * *

After eating dinner, Dudley pulled on a hoodie and changed his pyjama bottoms for jeans. Shoving his bare feet into one of his many pairs of trainers, he left his house, heading towards the park. Not caring if any of his gang were there, honestly sometimes the lot of them except for Piers were more his 'cronies' than 'friends', Dudley approached the park, inhaling a deep lungful of air. His mind still buzzed, traces of alcohol streaming through his veins. Breathe. That's all he needed right now. To breathe.

Until his sharp eyes caught sight of a lone figure seated on the swings, and his vacant expression materialised into a wolfish grin.

He set off across the park, puffing his chest out and adding swagger to his steps. In order to be intimidating, the swagger needed to be present. _Always._

"Alright, _Evans?"_

The boy literally jumped off of the swing, eyes swelling out of their sockets. He froze, feet rooted to the ground. It was a classic prey meets predator moment, and Dudley wanted to savour it.

"What's a nancy like you doing out this late? Won't your Mummy be worried?"

The usual laughter behind him that stemmed from his friends may be missing, but the situation was still the same. He would scare Evans to death and the boy would either run off or be chased by him.

"M-Mum knows where I am. S-She k-knows about y-you as well."

"Does she?" Dudley snickered. "She fit?"

The stunned silence at his question told him all he needed to know and he guffawed. "Guess not then."

Evans looked like he wanted to bolt, but Dudley wasn't finished with him yet. Moving towards him, he curled his lip, Evans backing away slowly.

"So… you think you own this park?"

"N-N-No… I came h-h-here to p-play."

" _To play?_ How fucking old are you? _Five?"_

"I'm t-ten."

"Could have fooled me. When are your balls gonna drop, huh?"

His shots were childish and below the belt, but it still got the reaction he craved out of Evans. Tears bristled at the edge of the boy's eyes and his mouth turned down into a sad frown.

"Who does this park belong too, _Evans?"_

"Y-You." His head jerked up and he fell back onto the seat of the swing. "Y-You and P-Piers… and Malcolm a-a-and-"

"NO!" Dudley lost his patience at hearing Evans's answer. "The park is _mine!_ _They_ follow _my_ orders!" Reminiscent of an early stage of the infamous tantrums, he stomped his foot into the grass. "And don't you forget that!"

"I w-w-won't!" Evans reared back so much that he nearly fell off the swing, his legs arching high into the air. Dudley's rage dissipated into a laughing fit as he stepped up to the swing and with one powerful kick from his large foot, sent the swing backwards and Evans to the ground. Unable to contain his snorts of laughter interlaced with quiet squeals that resembled a particular barnyard animal, Dudley lazily kicked Evans in the gut, muttering:

"Get the hell out of my park. Before I…" He trailed off, trying to think of a threat. He wanted the threat to be nasty, something that would ring true in a gore fest film.

"Before I boil your body in a bathtub of acid and feed your remains to the Crazy Cat Lady's furballs." Dudley nodded to himself. Nasty threat unleashed.

Evans gave out a pitiful cry and scrambled to his feet. With one last terrified look at his tormentor, he raced off home, kicking up dust with his heels. Dudley watched him go, sick grin contorting his lips. It was so much fun insulting little kids, even if those Dementoid things had shown him their point of view when he had been harassing them…

"Fuck it." He said out loud, wishing he had a bottle of vodka to neck. Hungover or not, he wanted a drink.

' _Maybe tomorrow then. Better get home before Mum has a fit.'_

He glanced around the park and cracked his knuckles. The park was his, hell _Little Whinging_ was his and no one would take that away from him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Contains slight homophobic language and dream sequences are styled in bold italics.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN**

He'd had a good day. Pummelling both in the video game world and reality was very satisfying to him and Dudley closed his eyes, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. That same smirk disappeared a few moments later as his breathing deepened and he relaxed into slumber, a mixture of a recent memory and a dream coming together.

* * *

" _ **Oi, look!"**_

 _ **Gordon, wicked glint in his eyes, angry scar on his right cheek and jeans sagging, pointed to the stray figure on the outskirts of the park. Dudley grinned. His favourite victim, presented to him on a silver platter. All he needed was for the boy to be wrapped up with a giant bow.**_

 _ **Shoulders back, chest out. It was time to intimidate.**_

" _ **Look here, lads! A stray retard has flown from its nest!"**_

 _ **Laughter all around him. It made him feel euphoric and the hairs on the back of his neck rose up in anticipation. As he loomed over Evans, the excitement around him built to a crescendo. It was time to put Evans into his place.**_

" _ **Alright, Evans?"**_

 _ **Even at that greeting, the boy was begging and cowering at his feet, Dudley throwing his head back and laughing in triumph. This was so liberating, so exhilarating. Such a power rush. He honestly wanted to relish this moment for as long as he could.**_

" _ **Please Dudley, stop!"**_

" _ **Stop, please!"**_

" _ **Y-You're… P-Please!"**_

" _ **I h-h-haven't done anything to y-you!"**_

 _ **At this last desperate exclamation, Dudley snorted. "Yeah you did, you gave me cheek. Remember? Said I was a big, dumb animal." He cupped his ear. "What's that? Is it… silence I hear?"**_

 _ **Evans opened his mouth, but he was quicker to the punch. "Don't bullshit me, Evans. You insulted me, so this is payback."**_

" _ **I-I-I-"**_

" _ **I-I-I… am a faggot." Another round of laughter rapid fired behind him.**_

" _ **That's a b-b-bad word."**_

" _ **Oh, is it? My apologies." Dudley sniggered. "You saying that cause it's the truth?"**_

" _ **N-No."**_

" _ **Like girls then? I'm surprised. You fingered anyone yet?"**_

 _ **At his look of disgust, Dudley rolled his eyes. "Thought so. At your age, I was doing two birds at one time!"**_

" _ **Uh, that never happened, Dud." Malcolm piped up from behind him.**_

" _ **Shut it." Dudley snapped out the side of his mouth.**_

" _ **L-Look, can I go? M-Mum's expecting me home-"**_

" _ **Hey Evans, when did I say that you could leave? Don't you know," Dudley stretched his lips into a nasty grin. "It's not polite to walk off without finishing a conversation. Now, you fucking stand there. I'm the one who tells you when you're allowed to leave. Yeah?"**_

 _ **Evans nodded, his shoulders slumping. He could risk running away, but he would never be able to outrun the older boys. Malcolm, Gordon and Dennis, maybe, but definitely not Piers. He was always the fastest one out of the five of them, and if the others tired, he could keep running ahead and eventually catch up to their latest victim. Even Dudley, now that he had lost all of that weight, could catch up to him. Mark realised it was safer for him to obey Dudley, otherwise he would be in for a bigger 'pounding' if he fled.**_

" _ **D? Want me to hold his arms behind his back? Just like old times?"**_

" _ **Good idea, we'll see what the little nancy does first though."**_

" _ **Huh yeah! It's the same when we used to beat up your cousin!"**_

" _ **Harry? You beat up H-Harry?" Mark looked aghast. "You beat up a c-c-criminal?"**_

 _ **Dudley wanted to brag about beating up Potter, but the mention of his cousin's surrogate school touched a sore nerve. More mentions of it only made it clearer how much of a freak Potter was. Why couldn't he have been a criminal? Would have been better than being a… magician!**_

" _ **I'm still tougher than him." He snarled at Evans. "He's a puny runt. Just like you."**_

 _ **Evans cowered again, and Dudley briefly turned his head to share a laugh of triumph with his friends. The gleeful faces of his friends fuelled his laughter fit and he turned his head back, feeling on top of the world.**_

 _ **Until he caught sight of the boy in front of him, and his whole world stopped.**_

 _ **Mark Evans was no longer cowering at his feet. No, he was standing up straight and staring at him. Eyes widening, Dudley's lips quivered, his laughter dying in his chest. This was too surreal.**_

" _ **Why the fuck aren't you scared?" He blurted out, mind whirring at the change in front of him.**_

 _ **Evans tilted his head and what happened next sent Dudley's blood pressure crashing. Bruises started to blossom all over Evans's skin, darkening his eyes and saturating his mouth.**_

 _ **And what was even creepier was that they had all appeared on the boy's skin without him even laying a finger on Evans.**_

 _ **An uncomfortable heat started to slide up his spine and he slowly shook his head.**_

' _ **This is some demonic shit. What the hell? Evans has never acted like this before.'**_

" _ **Uncomfortable, are we?"**_

 _ **The deep voice that emerged out of Evans's mouth was so unsettling that Dudley jumped back, his heel grinding deep into one of his gang's feet. He didn't even notice that there was no yell of pain at the contact, too entranced by the sight before him.**_

 _ **As well as being covered in bruises, Mark Evans's posture was stiff, as if he were an android. Past glimpses at Doctor Who on the telly sent alarm bells screeching in Dudley's head. Any second now, a Dalek would come whirring out of the shadows, like one of those Dementoids.**_

" _ **Why are you talking like that?"**_

" _ **Talking like what?"**_

" _ **Like… that." Dudley shuddered. The voice replying to him was cold and creepy.**_

' _ **Just like those Dementoid things… Oh shit.'**_

 _ **Evans smiled, and it was the most horrifying twisted smile Dudley had ever been on the receiving end of. "Why Dudley, I'm little Marky Evans. Who else could I be?"**_

" _ **D-Dunno… You could be one of those freaks Potter hangs out with."**_

" _ **You know nothing." Evans snarled, causing Dudley to jolt back. He then smiled again. "Ah, how is your cousin?"**_

" _ **D-Dunno… doesn't matter. Why the hell are you talking like that?! Tell me!"**_

" _ **Insufferable little brat, you are." Dudley floundered, it was like the Crazy Cat Lady was speaking to him, she always spoke down to him as if he were nothing.**_

 _ **Evans jutted out his chin and stared hard into the taller boy's eyes. "I am not scared of you."**_

 _ **A beat of silence as Dudley processed the new information, before he bellowed:**_

" _ **WHAT?! BUT YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN SCARED OF ME!" He gestured widely with his hands, his mind confused by the words he had just heard.**_

" _ **Seems you were wrong. As per usual."**_

 _ **Growling under his breath, Dudley muttered scathingly: "All that time I've ruddy wasted on tormenting this freak and now he says he ain't scared of me? Won't be saying that when his arm is broken. Stupid cu-"**_

 _ **Suddenly, Dudley stopped speaking, ears attuning to the silence that had been settling for the past few minutes. His friends, they weren't laughing. In fact, they had made no sound at all. Slowly, he turned around, eyes bulging at what he saw.**_

 _ **Black floating things… They looked as if they had come straight out of a supernatural movie…**_

 _ **He began to shake, eyes darting up and down, sweat sticking his blond hair to his head.**_

" _ **They have no eyes… no legs or arms… What the hell are these things? They're making me feel cold… Oh god… Are these those Dementoid things?! FUCKING HELL!"**_

 _ **He fell backwards in sheer terror, arms and legs desperately moving in a scrambling motion, scream pitching to the highest octave it could reach. The creatures, four of them, swooped in and the cold intensified. He heard his scream become distorted as memories seemed to surface, but one thought floated to the top of his mind.**_

 _ **Had his friends been replaced by these Dementoid things? Or had they… become them?**_

 _ **Evans was laughing in the background, making Dudley want to hit him. Hit him in his pathetic face. Hit him so hard he bled. Hit him until his skull caved in.**_

 _ **He really wanted to bloody hit him.**_

 _ **Dudley reeled back in fear as one of the creatures loomed over him and he snapped his eyes shut, body tingling with the feeling of gloom and goose bumps erupting over his skin from the cold. His scream tapered off as the Dementoid closed in on his mouth…**_

Dudley bolted upright in his bed, panting in exertion. He slowly glanced around his bedroom. It was shrouded in darkness as expected and apart from a growing pile of washing in the corner, it was still clean and tidy from his mother's habitual cleaning. There were no Dementoids, no laughing Evans, no vanishing friends.

He exhaled a deep breath, hand clutching his chest. Evans's skin had bruised so easily, like a fruit. Those bruises would have only looked good if _he_ had applied them, not that weird freakiness that had made them abruptly pop up.

He shook his head, easing himself back so that he was lying down once again. Staring up at the ceiling and feeling very uneasy, Dudley closed his eyes, his face relaxing out of his worried features as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

In the Malfoy Manor, Voldemort watched the boy sleep courtesy of the mirror. The little spell that Wormtail had placed on the Muggle on his behalf was very handy in worming his way into the boy's mind, particularly the brat's dreams. Taking the form of the child Dursley tormented in reality was an intelligent tactic. It had caught the stupid boy off guard. One moment, he was dreaming of his actions the day before, the next he was dealing with the most powerful wizard in the world in the form of a Muggle ten year old boy.

In reality, he may not be able to get close to the boy because of those cumbersome Order people, but dreams… No one could protect Dudley Dursley there.

For now, he would let the boy rest, but his work had begun.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Waking up the next morning after experiencing a bad dream could be traumatising. Had what happened in the dream transferred to reality? Opening his eyes, Dudley hoped to hell that it hadn't. Any sightings of a bruised Evans in the next fifteen hours would send him carted off to the looney bin, where he believed that his cousin belonged instead of that freaky magic school.

He wrestled the sheets off of the lower half of his body and swung his legs round so that his feet were resting on the soft carpet. Flashes of the dream prevented him from fully standing up, as he concentrated on pushing them away. If he stood up and was hit by an image of those Dementoids in replacement of his friends… he would be flat on his bed, most likely with his breath being knocked out of his lungs.

After ten minutes, he pushed himself up, wavering on the spot. Musing that at least he had recovered from his hangover, Dudley shuffled downstairs and into the kitchen. His father had already left for the office and his mother was dressed up in her finest clothes, which meant only one thing.

"Mum? You going to church?"

At the sound of her son's angelic voice, Petunia turned round, sickly sweet smile falling into place. She smoothed down her fuchsia pink skirt, tailored and knee length as expected, her hands then moving to adjust the baby pink blouse before settling the cream cardigan around her shoulders. Clutching her handbag, she cooed:

"No Duddy, why would you think that, silly boy? We've never been to the church as a family. In fact, I think the last time I went there was before I met your Dad."

Dudley dragged up a memory to the front of his mind, wanting to roll his eyes at his mum's forgetfulness. "What about a couple of years ago when you and Dad dragged me to that stupid church? The one where they were all happy clappy? That was well weird, Mum."

"Oh, yes." Petunia's smile switched to a frown. "That was only to impress the Wilsons, honey. Those clients of Daddy's? They were very religious, invited us along to the church. It was… different, I must say."

Dudley knew his mum was just dying to spill what she really thought about the church, but she settled with sniffing and saying haughtily: "The deal fell through, all their fault of course. So going to that church was a waste of time. Daddy works hard at his job, you know that. He's never lost a sale."

' _Yeah and I've never weighed over twenty stone. Remember the Masons? Don't think the lady appreciated cake covering all of her head. Lucky bitch, back then I was jealous that she got to taste all of it. Now… well, I try not to eat that much anymore.'_

"Okay, so where you going?"

The saccharine smile was back. "To the shopping centre."

"Food shopping? _Sainsbury's?"_ his stomach knotted. He would be too tempted to buy food. He was at peak fitness levels and he was still sticking to some of his diet rules, but it was summer, he was off school and he was in and out of boredom. The jam donuts from the bakery would soon be calling his name…

"No, no." Petunia scrunched up her face. "We're going to the Mall and we wouldn't shop at Sainsbury's, darling. Mrs George at Number 9 shops there, we're better than the Georges."

' _Who fucking cares?! It's all the same.'_

"Besides Waitrose have a luxurious meat selection. Don't you think, Duddy?"

"Hhm? Oh, yeah, great. Can I come?"

"Of course, sweetheart!"

Dudley smirked. "Can you make me breakfast now? I want full English." He yawned. "And I want white bread. Butter too."

"The Nurse at school suggested wheat bread and you do like wheat bread, Duddy."

"No, I don't." Dudley grimaced. "I hate it, you just make me eat it. And the Nurse don't know what she's talking about."

"She does, Duddybuns. She's trained in healthy eating and such. Have some wheat bread for breakfast, then you can have an ice cream later on, when we go out. Doesn't that sound perfect, Duddy-wuddy?"

He wanted to throw up and not only because he felt rough after such a strange dream. Nodding, he cracked out a smile.

"Sure, Mum. Can't wait."

* * *

Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his knee length shorts, Dudley hunched his shoulders in and glowered at the floor. His mum was singing the praises of one product, before providing a tongue lashing to another company that produced the same product, then fussing over him in that sickening tone of voice she only reserved for him. It was so embarrassing that she continued to treat him like a toddler and once or twice, he had wished for a sibling so that his mum's smothering love could be spread out. However, to his younger self, having a brother or sister meant less presents for him each year and that simply wouldn't do.

"Oh Duddy, doesn't this look adorable? You must try it on!"

The tartan long sleeved shirt she held up was so disgusting that he couldn't contain his grimace. Reminded of the abominable clothes she used to dress him in when he was younger, Dudley shook his head.

"Nah Mum, tartan's not cool anymore. It's a great shirt, but… my friends would be jealous of me wearing it. Plus, they might not have my size…"

His excuse was jumbled and he was praying with all his might that his mum didn't start swooning over his muscles as it was sickening and they were out in public. God, he wished he had stayed home now.

"Okay, dumpling, if you're sure." She pinched his cheek with her sharp nails, gazing up at her son in adoration as the sound of sniggering erupted from behind them. Petunia set the hanger back onto the rail and bustled off to another department as Dudley swung round, glowering at the unwanted company.

Three twelve year old boys were snickering behind their hands and gesturing to him. They were all dressed in designer gear, slouched against one of the shelves, trying to act intimidating. Dudley felt his anger spike, but logic cut through the blind rage. If he came across these boys in his park, then he fully knew that they would be following him and his gang around, copying them and sucking up. The act of intimidation would be impressive upon a younger group of children, but considering their balls hadn't dropped yet, Dudley was tempted to laugh back in their faces.

However, he had an act to keep up. So making sure his Mum had her back turned, Dudley flipped off the three young boys before stomping away to another aisle, not bothered to see their reaction. His Mum hurried after him, but Dudley couldn't be bothered to talk to her, so instead, he strode out of the store and headed towards Game. As he entered the gaming shop, Petunia paused. She was not at all interested in video games and would rather shop in Primark than step into a game store, however this was her time to spend with her son and she wanted to make the most of it. He was out of the house so much, having tea with his little friends that the fear of missing out on his early stages of life was becoming more and more prominent to her. This fear spiralled out of control at that moment, but before she could put aside her high standards and follow her darling boy into the shop, a heavily made up face obscured her vision.

"Petunia! I thought it was you! Hello, how have you been? It must have been at least twenty years since I've last saw you!"

Her face habitually wrinkled in disgust as she tried to place the woman standing in front of her. Anyone she associated with twenty years ago was long out of her life, apart from her husband. This woman could either be someone she knew from school, someone that lived in Cokeworth or even worse, one of Lily's friends.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

The woman's smile faltered. "Oh, I'm Tracey. Tracey Nash, I lived two doors down from your family. I didn't go to your school, but my little sister did. Do you remember?"

The flashback to her childhood was painful, but she narrowed down the hundreds of faces she had encountered in Cokeworth to the younger version of the woman before her. Tracey Nash, a year older than her, shipped off to a catholic school for unknown reasons. Petunia never saw her again after she had been sent off to school, but word around town was that Tracey had been caught with a boy one too many times and her parents had stepped in.

"Ah yes, Tracey. How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks! Well, I've just divorced my husband, married for ten years, but the bugger went and cheated on me with one of the ladies at the local bingo, so I chucked him out. My lawyer sent him the divorce papers and its looking like I'm getting the house and the dog!"

The waffle of words filed away in Petunia's mind as worthy gossip, but the fact that she was divorced and had taken back her maiden name irked her. What a failure of marriage!

"That's nice, Tracey. Well, it was good to see you again, but I do have to get-"

"Mum!" Stomping over, Dudley jabbed his finger in the direction of the aisle he had come from. "There's a new shirt I want to get. Can I have your purse?"

"Yes of course, baby." Petunia was pleased to be speaking to her son instead of this foolish woman who she wanted to remain a face in the past. She took her purse out of her handbag and handed it over. "There you go, pumpkin."

"Thanks." He grunted, blue eyes raking over the stranger next to his mother. She beamed at him, saying chirpily: "Hi, I'm Tracey, an old friend of your Mum's."

Petunia cringed at the statement as she did not consider this woman her 'friend' and her upbeat demeanour caused Dudley to dislike her straight away.

He nodded, then walked away, making sure that there was swagger in his step. Everyone needed to know that he was badass and he was not to be crossed, ever.

Opening up his mother's purse, Dudley's eyes lit up. Cash notes neatly tucked into the slits of the purse and they were just begging to be spent. He pulled out two twenty pound notes, leaving a ten pound one lone in the bottom split. Dudley shoved the purse into his back pocket, cash clenched in his fist. He grabbed the Nike emblazoned white shirt, before heading to the tills. There, he paid for the shirt, slapping down the money he'd taken from the purse onto the counter and stuffing the change he received into one of his front pockets.

' _Mum doesn't have to know about the tenner in change. I'll just say it cost forty quid, I can hide the receipt. And it's not like I took ALL of the money from her purse, I left her some.'_

When he sauntered back over to his mother, the Tracey woman was no longer there. His mother broke into a relieved smile at the sight of him, hands immediately rubbing his bare arms.

"Oh sweetie, don't worry, that odious woman has gone now. I cannot believe the nerve of her! Walking up to me and chatting as if we're old friends! Well, I can assure you, we are not! Yvonne is my friend, not Tracey. What a terrible name… Did you buy the shirt you liked? Let's have a look… Oh Duddykins, that is far too small of a size. Are you really getting that thin? Baby, we'll go and buy lunch soon, yes?"

Head and shoulders rising above his mother's head, Dudley rolled his eyes. All she did was blabber on and as he grew older, he became more sick and tired of the babyish nicknames and the fawning adoration. Half the time he didn't even know what she was on about.

"Mum, I'm not a twig, am I? Look at my muscles… And here's your purse."

He waited for her hands to drop before giving her back the purse.

"Can we go home now? I'm tired."

His hangover may have gone, but he was still shaken from that freakish dream. A shudder crawled slowly up his spine. "Can we?" He repeated.

Petunia wanted to stay to do some more shopping, but if her Duddy was tired, then she would drop everything to rush him home so that he could relax. She smiled and linked her thin arm through his strong muscular one. Dudley wanted to die of embarrassment. They were walking along like some old married couple! He loved his Mum, but god, she was hard work.

However, he didn't have the heart to shake off her arm, so he walked out of the shopping centre, arm in arm with his mother to the sound of barely concealed laughter.

* * *

Drumming his fingers on the dashboard, Dudley glared at the stretch of traffic before them. All he wanted to do was get home and stay there. Too exhausted to go and see any of his mates, Dudley growled under his breath.

"This is so fucking typical…"

"What did you say, sweetie?"

"Huh? Nothing, Mum. I didn't say nothing."

"Oh," Petunia lifted her gaze from the car in front of her onto her son. "I'm sure I heard you say something… Must be my old age!" She tittered, but he knew how to answer the question hidden within the depths of her words.

"You're not old, Mum. You look… really good for your age."

' _Shit, that's cringey. Well, at least I didn't say she was hot.'_

Petunia gently tapped Dudley on the arm. "Oh Duddy, you are a charmer. Just like Daddy."

Managing a small strained smile, he stopped drumming his fingers and leant back in the seat, wishing he was curled up in bed.

* * *

They arrived home half an hour later and Dudley's desire for his bed had lessened. If he went to bed at one in the afternoon, it would cause his parents panic and he didn't want them questioning him. So sucking it up, he entered his house, leaving his mother to hang up his shirt in his wardrobe and headed towards the fridge. It was stacked full of treats and processed food, but Dudley raided the small area where his mother stacked healthy food and pulled out a bag of salad.

The expiry date was iffy, but the salad itself looked green enough for him. He threw himself onto the flowery sofa and turned on the television, flicking through channels as he shoved lettuce into his mouth. The green and purple leaves were disgusting, but if he binged on sweets now, he'd have to work extra hard at the gym and in the summer heat, he was not prepared to sweat any more than he needed too.

"Dudley? Why are you eating salad?" The disgust in his father's voice was clear.

"Have too, Dad." Chewed up pieces of salad shot out of his mouth and onto the carpet. "Gotta keep in shape for boxing, got that big tournament in December, remember?"

"How could I forget? Your mother and I have already booked a place to stay for that night, though I doubt we'll be getting much sleep, what with all of the celebrating we'll be doing."

Dudley felt pride bloom in his chest. His parents believed in him so much, it was wonderful.

"Baby, are you sure you don't want me to make you a proper salad? It's not very hygienic to eat it out of the bag." His mother, appearing in the living room, cooed.

"Nah, it's all gone now." Tilting his head back, Dudley tipped the rest of the salad into his mouth then screwed up the empty bag, holding it out for his mother. "Put this in the bin."

Petunia did as commanded, coming up behind Dudley and starting to smooth down his hair.

"Mum," Dudley dropped the remote and waved her off. "I like my hair the way it is."

"But I used to love doing your hair!" Petunia hummed to herself. "You were Mummy's little angel with a halo of blond locks."

Dudley pulled a face, which Vernon chuckled at. "Leave the boy alone, Pet. He's a man now and men want to do their own hair. Isn't that right, Dudders?" His son nodded, pouting as his mother continued to mess up his hair.

"Right," Clapping his hands together, Vernon looked towards the television. "Petunia, rustle up your best roast dinner, then after we've eaten, we'll all watch the telly together. The three of us, just like old times."

Whilst his mother moved over to the kitchen, Dudley allowed his father to sit down heavily next to him and after finding the remote, switched the channel to the football highlights.

* * *

He lay on top of his sheets, stomach full of roast chicken, his duvet bunched up at the end of the bed. A fan whirred to the right of him, blasting cold air onto his perspiring body. The heat had peaked to the level of stuffiness that Dudley couldn't handle and he lay awake, thinking back to a time when he would have been struggling for breath in this heat.

Eventually though, his eyelids grew weary and he fell into sleep, unaware that another bad night was in store for him.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

 _ **Dudley stood in the medicine aisle, the pack of condoms taking up his attention. He could try to sneak some out of the shop with him, but his efforts would most likely be futile and there was no chance that he could pick them up and take them to the counter. Buying them would land him in a world of trouble with his mother, so reluctantly, he dragged his gaze away from the condoms and turned away.**_

 _ **The aisle filled with alcohol called his name and Dudley stumbled over, suddenly feeling intoxicated. He eyed up the vodka, imagining the best way to conceal the bottle under his jacket. The alarms at the entrance would most likely go off, but if he legged it, he likely would get away. But his Mum on the other hand… she wouldn't make it to the entrance, let alone escape. Plus she'd blabber on about how her 'sweet little Duddykins' would never steal anything and if anyone overheard her secret nicknames for him… then he would never live it down.**_

 _ **Giggling to himself, Dudley looked around for his Mum, wondering where she was, when he stopped giggling and the lightheaded feeling floated away, leaving him empty inside. For he was confronted with the sight of Mark Evans, but what baffled Dudley the most, was that there were no horrific bruises covering him. Evans was simply standing at the end of the aisle, hands clasped behind his back and a cold stare emitting from his eyes. If Dudley had been holding the vodka, there would have been a high chance that he would have dropped it and the bottle would have smashed all over the floor.**_

" _ **What you doing?"**_

 _ **The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Fear was not an emotion that he related with Mark Evans, but if the boy kept appearing out of nowhere like that, then fear would soon be all Dudley felt for him.**_

" _ **What am**_ **I** _ **doing?" Evans smirked. "I am watching an underage fool attempt to pilfer alcohol in full view of everyone around him."**_

 _ **Dudley whipped his head round at the mention of being watched, but when he saw no suspicious security guards lurking round the corner of the aisle, he turned back to Evans and narrowed his eyes.**_

" _ **Think you're hard now, do you? Trying to be all clever? Yeah, run and tell your little friends that you beat Big D." He snorted. "No one will believe you. They'll want evidence, which means a fight. And I'll punch your face right in, you little shit. Fight me and you're digging your own grave."**_

" _ **How poetic of you. Alas, I think that you'll find that**_ **you** _ **will be digging your own grave."**_

" _ **Shut up!" Dudley bellowed, fists clenched. "Say one more thing like that to me and I'll beat you to a pulp. I swear I will do. I don't care."**_

 _ **Instead of a jab back at him like he expected, Evans instead cocked his head to the side and murmured: "You don't seem to care about much, do you? School, friends, your cousin… How about your parents? You care about them, do you not?"**_

" _ **Course I do!" Dudley started to feel flustered, heat creeping up the back of his neck. Why was Evans asking these questions? Why was he so interested in him?**_

" _ **Duddykins! Where are you?"**_

' _ **Oh God, not now. Don't call me that in front of Evans!'**_

 _ **The tips of Dudley's ears flushed and he shifted restlessly on the spot. Now Evans had ammunition to use against him!**_

"' **Duddykins?'** _ **How sweet."**_

 _ **Dudley glared menacingly at the young boy, willing him to come to his senses and run away.**_

" _ **Do you have any other nicknames?" At Dudley's silence, Evans smiled wickedly. "I take your silence as a 'yes'. What are your other nicknames? Tell me."**_

" _ **You really think I'm gonna tell you what my Mum calls me at home? No way!"**_

" _ **You believe that she only uses those nicknames in the privacy of your home? No, boy, she does not. Your mother uses them in public, just like she did now, and you**_ **hate** _ **it."**_

 _ **Dudley squirmed, uncomfortable that Evans had spoken the truth as the nicknames, when spoken aloud in public, mortified him. Now the boy he got kicks out of beating up knew about how gushing his mother could be and that was not good.**_

 _ **His mother's voice floated away from them, indicating that she had moved away to another part of the shop. Dudley relaxed his shoulders, realising that he could put on a more menacing tone and scare Evans away, now that he didn't have to act like a 'good boy' anymore.**_

" _ **Alright, enough games. Fuck off now, I'm done. Move along and I won't beat you."**_

 _ **Evans chuckled and Dudley felt a shudder slither down his spine. That laugh sounded as if it had come from the deep depths of hell and he quickly wished for the sound of his mother's voice to come screeching back in so he could attempt a speedy exit.**_

" _ **The macho act grows weary, you fool. I am surprised that you didn't run after your mother, considering how close of a relationship you have. She is your best friend after all."**_

" _ **No, she's not!" Dudley scrunched his face up. "You can't be best mates with your Mum, that's weird!"**_

" _ **Yet you two are so close, you have such a strong bond. After all, she does everything for you, even makes your breakfast for you. Only little children require such attentiveness. Do you not have the capable skills to look after yourself?"**_

 _ **His blood boiled. Evans was standing there, chatting shit about him and he would no longer stand for it! Even if he got chucked out of the store, or his Mum rushed over and embarrassed him in front of everyone, Dudley wanted Evans to be quiet.**_

 _ **He balled his fists, closing the distance between himself and the younger boy.**_

" _ **Shut up, right now. I'm getting seriously close to cramming you into one of the freezer boxes with all the frozen foods and making sure you**_ **never** _ **get out. Stop all this bullshit and shut up."**_

 _ **Evans chuckled again, as Dudley towered over the ten year old. His voice smooth as silk, Evans stared Dudley straight in the eye and whispered:**_

" _ **As you wish."**_

 _ **One blink later and he was standing in the alleyway off Magnolia Crescent. The sky was pitch black, the stars snuffed out, and Dudley couldn't take his eyes off of the head of the alleyway. Not so long ago, those freaky beings had attacked him and his cousin, and he had seen and heard things that were best left buried deep in his mind, where no one could reach them. But now here he was, feet rooted to the ground and unwilling to move, awaiting certain death.**_

 _ **A high gust of wind swirled down the alleyway, blowing back his jacket to reveal goosebumps on his collarbone. His teeth chattered and Dudley reeled back as a sudden commotion rattled the air around him and left him flying onto his back. He slammed into the ground, expecting pain, but instead there was numbness. Dudley tried to wiggle his fingers as he didn't want to strain any body part, but his fingers lay lifeless. No sensations could be felt in his fingers and his chest rose up and down at a faster pace, as the numbness crept up.**_

 _ **The memories all came at a rush and his head lolled from side to side as he attempted to get away. The Dementoids were back and they had returned to eat him… or his soul or whatever Potter had said that they would take.**_

 _ **He was in panic mode, desperately struggling to escape from the freaky monsters before he lost his life and the memories were getting too much, they were overwhelming him and he was losing all hope…**_

* * *

Dudley shot up in his bed, terror consuming him. He panted, his breathing similar to how he felt after a ten mile run, sheets wet with sweat. His hair was glued to his forehead and his armpits were damp, the sheer fear of the dream outpouring into his surroundings.

He glanced at his alarm clock. Three twenty in the morning. He groaned, hunching over and pulling his damp t-shirt away from his body, off over his head, and throwing it across the room. His hands rested in his lap as he raised his head, frown tugging at his lips.

' _That wasn't a dream… that was a nightmare. Why am I having another nightmare? This is starting to get seriously messed up.'_

Not wanting to linger on that depressing reality, Dudley got out of bed, stripped his bedding off of his bed and tossed it into his laundry basket, before settling at his desk and switching on his computer to play video games.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

He played video games until his eyes strained and his fingers ached. They began to feel numb from the constant button mashing, and Dudley tore his fingers away from the keyboard, shaking his hands to relieve the numbness. After shaking his hands, he flexed his fingers, mouth stretching open to yawn. Dudley rubbed his eyes, glancing back at his bare mattress. It was dry, so he could sleep on it, but now that it was half six, he didn't know if there was any point in trying to get back to sleep.

He stood up from his computer chair and frowned in thought.

' _What if I go back to sleep and have a nightmare again? Why do all my nightmares seem to be about Evans? I haven't been sleeping right since that Dementoid Attack… Has Potter put a curse on me? What the fuck is going on?!'_

He ran his hands through his hair, his jumbled thoughts stressing him out. What he needed was more sleep… and maybe something to eat. It was bad of him to go rummaging through the fridge to find some snacks, as it was a 'negative habit' according to the school nurse and could see his weight creep up when he next stepped onto the scales. Dudley didn't want to fall back into his old pattern, but the nightmare had shaken him so much that he needed a bit of light relief.

' _Like some chocolate… Yeah, could do with some of that right now. Hope Dad didn't eat all of the Dairy Milk.'_

Dudley slowly pulled open his bedroom door and crept down the steps, wincing at the creak on the bottom step. The creak must be new, he'd have to avoid that step in future when sneaking out during the night. He shuffled through the darkness, the lay-out of the lower floor of the house mapped out in his head. He knew the way to the fridge and what seat he would take at the table to scoff his chocolate. Take him back a year and a half, weight topping twenty one stone and every night, Dudley found himself going down to the kitchen. He always took the same seat after rifling through the fridge and proceeded to gorge on as much food as he could stomach. The next morning, a seldom feeling of guilt would plague him, but his parents never said a word and though it meant more shopping for his mother, she was only happy to comply.

He opened the fridge, scanning the shelves with beady eyes, spotting the Dairy Milk at the back of the fridge. He pulled the wrapper out, eyes widening in dismay when all he pulled out was an empty wrapper, any proof of chocolate long gone.

"For god's sake, Dad." He grumbled under his breath. "I really wanted that."

He chucked the wrapper in the bin and shut the fridge door. His appetite had vanished now and fatigue was catching up with him. Turning away from the fridge, Dudley trudged back into the hall-way and up the stairs, passing all of the framed pictures of himself through various stages of his life.

Dudley paused at the top of the stairs upon hearing someone stir within his parent's bedroom. He bit his lip, not wanting to have to deal with questions about why he was up early in the morning and the lecture for not getting any sleep. Luckily, the door to the main bedroom remained closed and Dudley entered his bedroom and fell into his bed gratefully, managing to drift off into a peaceful rest.

He awoke at noon. Dudley yawned, stretching his arms up until he heard a satisfying click, then dropped them back down onto the bed. He sat up, stomach growling for food. He could happily eat to his heart's content at that very moment, but he needed to go to the gym and gym meant salad.

Dudley climbed out of bed and made his way downstairs, greeting his mother with a lopsided smile.

"Alright, Mum? Can I have a salad? I'm going gym soon, but I'm starving."

"Of course, Diddums." She cooed, busying herself with preparing the salad. As she cut up a few pieces of chicken, she attempted to make conversation on a topic that she was not at all familiar with.

"So, what equipment will you be using at the gym? The dumbars?"

Dudley looked confused for a moment, before figuring out what she was referring too. "Oh, the dumb _bells._ Yeah, using them. Punchbag, need to work on my jabs if I'm gonna keep my Champion title. Do some cardio, maybe use some TRX straps."

Petunia nodded, plastering a smile on to show that she understood even though that was furthest from the truth. Dudley knew that his mother barely understood any of the terms he'd described and held back a laugh. He didn't want to make his Mum look stupid.

"I'm gonna get in the shower, shout when the salad's done. Ta." He went back up the stairs and into the bathroom, stripping off and turning on the water. After he'd finished his shower, Dudley dried off and pulled on a pair of running shorts and a sports shirt, slipping his socked feet into his expensive running shoes. He slung a towel round his neck and packed his gym bag, before carrying it downstairs to the kitchen.

On the dining table was his small portion of chicken salad. It looked pathetic and Dudley didn't want to eat it, but he vowed to go to the gym today and he needed food that was quick and easy to digest. He thudded into his usual chair, dropping his bag on the floor and spearing a piece of chicken with his fork. Dudley quickly demolished his salad, leaving his plate and fork on the table for his mother to clean up. He hauled his bag over his shoulder and headed to the front door.

"See ya later, Mum."

"Bye Duddy! Have a lovely time at the gym! Don't get too sweaty, mind you-"

The door banged shut before Petunia could finish her goodbye. She blinked twice, before smiling happily, glad that her little boy was becoming so independent.

* * *

"Sixty seven…. Sixty Eight…. Sixty Nine….. Seventy…."

Dudley collapsed into a pool of sweat, panting heavily. His shirt was sweat-stained, the muscles in his arms and legs burning. He had just finished a two hour intense workout, with only a five minute break to stretch out and take a huge gulp of water from his bottle. His heart raced and he felt bile in the back of his throat, but it was all worth it.

The harder he worked, the more prepared he was for the upcoming boxing matches that would bombard him when he returned to school. Thinking of school got Dudley thinking about his GCSE's. He'd have to really crack down and study hard this year.

He snorted with laughter, as he adjusted his blaring headphones. _'Yeah right. GCSE's are pointless anyway. I'll go to Grunnings for a bit when I leave school, then I'll move on from there.'_

Dudley stood up, grabbed his towel and drink and walked over to the full-length mirror that was hung up on one of the walls. Around him, machines whirred down to silence as people filtered out, their sessions finished and aiming to get out of the stifling gym and into the fresh air. As Dudley flexed his muscles in the mirror, the last person left, leaving him in the room by himself. He stopped flexing and bent down to pick up his drink, taking a swig before capping it and putting it down.

Dudley straightened up and looked in the mirror once again, his eyes immediately flying over to the corner of the mirror. There, standing several feet behind him, was Mark Evans.

Bruised, battered, cold smile. Mark Evans.

Dudley's eyes went wide and he snapped his neck round so fast that he was at risk of giving himself whiplash. He scanned the area, certain that his vision was deceiving him.

 _There was no one there._

Above him, the light flickered, Dudley slowly sliding his headphones down to his neck as he craned his head up. He licked his dry lips, the heavy beats of the rap track pounding out of his headphones and into the silent gym. Dudley stared up at the light as it stopped flickering and thought:

' _Those Dementoids have driven me crazy. I'm gonna be chucked in the looney bin.'_ These thoughts became malicious. _'Potter is SO DEAD when it gets home. His freakishness is causing all of this shit, I'm gonna beat him into the ground!'_

Not wanting to experience any more strange happenings, Dudley picked up his towel and drink and jogged out of the gym back to the changing rooms.

* * *

"How was the gym, Dudders?"

Face shiny and hair and clothes dripping with sweat, Dudley sidled past his mother and rambled on:

"Good, yeah. I did two hours, like intense workout. So I did twenty minutes on the treadmill, thirty on the punching bag and I used my gloves cause of course the ones at that gym suck, then I did…"

Petunia listened intently to each word, so proud of how much hard work her son put into maintaining peak fitness levels. Something else to brag about to her bridge club.

When Dudley had finished, she wrinkled her nose. "You worked very hard, sweetheart. I think you may need another shower."

The hint was strong and Dudley took it. He planned to go out in the evening and if he ran into any girls, well he couldn't charm them if he was all sweaty and out of breath.

' _Besides, I'd get out of breath later on if they let me get it on with them.'_

Excited by this prospect, Dudley put the incident at the gym behind him as he took the stairs two at a time and barged into the bathroom, peeling off his dirty clothing.

After a long cold shower, Dudley stepped out, dried and put on a shirt emblazoned with the words 'NEW YORK', before putting on his red Adidas tracksuit, white stripes adorning the sides of the jacket and trousers. He shoved his feet into his cleanest pair of white Nike trainers, sprayed half a bottle of cologne over his body and using his fingers, styled his damp hair into mini spikes. He selected one gold chain out of the box that was crammed with gold and silver accessories, settling it around his neck.

Dudley shoved his door keys into his pocket, then sat down on the banister and slid down it, whistling.

The television blared in the front room and Dudley hollered out a goodbye to his parents, knowing that they would be getting worked up about the Evening News. Hopefully his father wouldn't give himself a heart attack over the newest piece of political news.

He pulled the door shut behind him and headed off towards the park, wondering if his gang were around. They usually were by the graffitied alleyway where he and Potter had encountered the Dementoids, but this evening, it seemed he was by himself. Dudley didn't feel inclined to go to their homes and ask them out, particularly when he spotted Mark Evans walking past the park, carrying a covered tray.

What happened at the gym jumped to the front of his mind and his fury swelled. If Evans _was_ at the gym, then he needed to find out why he was following him.

Storming out of the alleyway, Dudley approached Evans from behind, reaching out a large hand which he clamped down onto the boy's right should, swinging Evans round to face him.

The ten year old stared up at his tormentor with fear-filled eyes, legs trembling, hands gripping tightly onto the tray. Dudley glowered at him, teeth gritted.

"Answer me one question, _Evans._ Were you at the gym earlier? Cause I saw you watching me. You looked like you were all battered up and shit, but you were definitely there. Were you?"

Mark Evans had no idea what Dudley was going on about, but he would tell him the truth. Slowly, he shook his head.

"N-No. I d-d-don't go to the g-g-gym. Maybe you s-saw someone else?"

Big mistake. "I know who I saw!" Dudley growled, before looking down at the foil covered tray. "What's that?"

Mark trembled. "C-Cupcakes. I b-b-baked them at h-home and I'm g-going to give them o-out to the n-neighbours."

Dudley snorted, ignoring his stomach's growls at the word 'cake''. "You're an arse licker, you know that?" He tugged the tray out of Evans's hands and tossed it over his shoulder, smirking when Evans cried out.

"Oh well, bet they were shit anyway."

Letting go of Evans, Dudley moved over to the tray and stomped on the foil covered cakes, snarling: "This is what I think of you. I don't appreciate little wankers lying to my face!"

Attempting to desperately dismiss the name-calling, Mark backed away, hands up in a placating gesture.

"I'm not l-lying, I weren't there!"

Dudley raised his gaze up from the remains of the cupcakes and levelled it onto Evans. His glare was so intense that Mark flinched back, backing up even more as Dudley stormed towards him. The fist flew out and struck him on the cheek, Mark crumpling to the ground. He brought his hands up to protect himself, tucking his legs into his chest to shield his stomach. Dudley hovered over him, raining down punches, his fury swelling like his Dad's face when he was angry at Potter.

' _ **Beat him, Dudley. Punch him until he is unconscious. I can feel how angry you are. Beat him, he deserves it.'**_

The soothing voice in his head sounded exactly like the weird version of Evans that he had dreamt about, and Dudley reeled backwards, staggering away from the cowering boy on the ground. Where had that voice come from in his head? Was it another side effect from the Dementoids?

Bewildered, Dudley avoided tripping over the smashed mess of cupcakes and fled home, leaving Mark Evans to whimper in pain.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Dudley sprinted as fast as he could towards his house, mashed cupcakes and creepy voices fresh on his mind. He could feel the sweat seeping through his tracksuit and suddenly wondered why the hell he had put a tracksuit on in the height of summer. In hindsight, it was a ridiculous decision and he could imagine Potter laughing at his stupidity as he stepped into the hallway, stinking of sweat. But Potter was long gone and Dudley was willing to wait all the time in the world for him to come back.

His thoughts strayed to Evans as he approached his front door, but he forced them out of his mind. Usually, he'd love reflecting on a beating, particularly if it involved a one on one with himself and Mark Evans, but after all of the freakishness that he had experienced, he was not in the celebratory mood. He turned his attention to the weather and opening the front door, was glad that the fan set up in the hallway greeted him with a blast of cold air.

Dudley slumped against the closed front door, attempting to even out his breathing. He was running on empty, the scorching heat and gym session tiring him out and the added bonus of night terrors doubling his fatigue. All he wanted to do was fall asleep. Dudley lumbered past the living room, showing his head round the door to greet his parents, and up the stairs. He lay down on his bed, letting out a yawn before closing his eyes.

* * *

 _ **He woke up behind bars. In his honest opinion, he wasn't surprised. He'd been expecting it to happen at some point during his teenage years. Dudley hoped he'd been nicked for something cool, something that he would be able to brag to his friends about, but one without a charge that would stick and send him into a correction centre or even prison.**_

 _ **Sitting up from where he had been lying down on the cell bed, Dudley held a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright light shining down onto his face. He blinked away spots that appeared in his vision, hand drawing down slightly so he could see the source of the light. The light was illuminated by a handheld torch, held by a small hand, belonging to a skinny arm that was attached to-**_

 _ **Dudley's eyes shifted from the light to the face of the person who held the torch and nausea toiled in his stomach. He sputtered, grasping for an explanation.**_

" _ **How? What? YOU put me in here?! What the fuck is going on?!"**_

 _ **A completely bruise free Mark Evans tugged his lips into a devious smile. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, light brown hair slicked back with gel. Like before, his voice was cold, yet smooth.**_

" _ **Dudley Dursley, you have the right to remain silent. You do not have to say anything-"**_

" _ **Yes, I bloody do! What the hell's going on?!" Dudley stood up to his full height, glowering at the impact the torch light continued to have on his eyes, feet moving forward until he was up close to the bars. "Why am I behind bars? Why are you here?"**_

" _ **I was reading your rights before you rudely interrupted me-"**_

" _ **I didn't interrupt you. You ain't explaining yourself. WHY AM I HERE?!"**_

 _ **His bellow ricocheted around the cell and Dudley gripped the bars so tightly that his knuckles paled ghostly white. His eyes manic, hair resembling an explosive shock and the plain white t-shirt and khaki knee length shorts that he was now wearing sticking to his skin, Dudley lowered his voice, hissing:**_

" _ **You let me out right now, or I'll kick your fucking face in. You-"**_

 _ **Smaller hands dug into his as Mark Evans moved up to the bars, his grip on Dudley's hands slowly crushing the older boy's circulation. Dudley cried out in pain, baffled as to how someone so weak could be hurting him.**_

 _ **Evans smiled, a pure cruel smile, before resuming. "You are here, because you have been chosen. How does it feel to be bested by someone five years younger than you? It must tarnish your ego, one that is already over-inflated… just like you were."**_

 _ **Dudley lost it. The reminder that Evans was a lot younger than him despite currently crushing his hands, plus the jibe at his weight added on top, was too much for him. His threadbare patience had snapped and he wanted to prove to Evans that he would not be humiliated by a ruddy ten year old.**_

" _ **Listen here, Evans. When I next see you, you're gonna be needing an ambulance, cause I'll knock your teeth down the back of your throat! Now, GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF MINE!"**_

 _ **The grip on his hands loosened enough for his fingers not to throb, but that relief was cut short when one of the small hands snapped up to the collar of his t-shirt, grabbing the material and pulling down sharply, Dudley finding himself dragged down to be face to face with Evans.**_

 _ **Voldemort, under the guise of the tormented boy, was thrilled to press the Muggle child's buttons and allowing his true voice to seep through, crooned:**_

" _ **We shall be seeing a lot more of each other, I can guarantee you that."**_

 _ **He let the news dawn on the boy before lifting his other hand and snapping his fingers.**_

" _ **Now, back to reality."**_

* * *

Dudley opened his eyes, only to be confused at the stream of sunlight that poked through his curtains. A quick look at the clock showed the time to be eight in the morning, Dudley rubbing his eyes as he pulled himself up off of the mattress.

' _I must have slept a long time then. That dream only felt like I'd been asleep for like an hour…. The dream!'_

He blinked, mind struggling to piece together the nightmare he had during the night. Once again, Evans had plagued his slumber, but upon thinking hard about it, Dudley swore that there had been something different with his voice near the end of his dream. When Evans's hand had been on his, his voice had sounded… _evil._

Dudley shuddered, scooting off his bed and shuffling towards his bedroom door.

' _These dreams are messed up. I need to take my mind off of them.'_

He opened his bedroom door and stomped down the stairs, entering the kitchen to a plate of scrambled eggs, French toast and a bright smile from his mother.

"Duddykins, I thought that we could go shopping today for school supplies, unless you've got anything else planned!"

Mum was waiting for any plans to be revealed so she could spill the latest juicy bit of gossip on the individuals involved, but she would soon be disappointed.

"Nah, not got any plans." He exhaled heavily through his nostrils, drawing in all of his energy for the day. "Guess we'd better get the school shopping over with then."

Petunia clapped her hands together, eyes shining with delight. "Year Eleven already, I cannot believe how much time has flown! I remember the day I gave birth to you, how I pushed you out and held you in my arms for the first time. Daddy was so proud, went round the ward and gave everyone a pat on the back for helping and he even was allowed to cut the umbilical cord! They didn't really let fathers do it at the time, but Dad insisted and he was so proud that you were a strong healthy baby boy."

Shoving scrambled egg into his mouth, Dudley nodded, letting the words wash over him.

"We should have a look at your baby album when we get back. Ooh, we could invite Mrs Davies round from number twelve and show her your photographs." Petunia's eyes gleamed. "Show that you were much cuter than her son."

The fork clattered onto the plate, Dudley turning himself round in his chair to stare wide-eyed up at his mother.

"Do we have to get the baby photos out? I don't want people to see them."

"Why not, dumpling? You were a very cute baby," Petunia beamed, wiping a tear away from her eye. "And now you're so handsome!"

Dudley turned back to his breakfast in disgust, gagging at the thought of his baby photos being seen by the general public. Particularly if Mum fished out the ones of him stark bollock naked, he doubted that there would be shade of red bright enough for his face to turn if she did that.

"There's so many already on the walls of this house…" Dudley mumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes as his mother prattled on and on about her favourite subject: him.

He finished his breakfast, had a quick shower and pulled open his wardrobe doors. He pulled out a pair of dark blue jeans and a Tupac shirt, getting dressed and then staring at himself in the mirror. Dudley grabbed his comb off of his bedside cabinet and styled his hair into his usual spikes, spraying cologne over his body and putting on one of his smaller gold chains around his neck. He shoved his feet into the trainers that were closest to him and not being bothered to brush his teeth, picked up a packet of gum and shoved two sticks into his mouth, wadding the gum together with his saliva.

Dudley looked back at the mirror, pulling his lower lids down to see the slight redness of his eyes. They were becoming bloodshot, despite his dose of sleep. Yet the bags under his eyes screamed the truth. Sighing, Dudley spun round and slammed out of his room, oblivious to the eyes that watched him from afar in a certain Manor through the use of a handheld mirror. Eyes that tormented him each night.

* * *

Dudley stood in W H Smith, notepads and boxes of pens cradled in his arms. His Mum was off somewhere chatting to a sales assistant, whilst he stood in the aisle looking like a pillock. He didn't want to go back to school! School was shite and he already knew that he would be bound to fail his GCSE's. His parents wouldn't be angry with him, he realised that, because if he ended up with terrible grades then all they would do is blame the teachers themselves and kick up a fuss.

Dudley knew his teachers thought he was going to fail – hell, they probably _wanted_ him to fail – but he didn't want to look like a moron so he was going to bribe someone to help him study or find a way to cheat.

His Mum came over to join him and they headed to the checkout counter, Dudley zoning out to focus on his thoughts. Another daunting prospect of going back to school was his sleep pattern. It was true that a lot of his classmates would be staying up late to study, only surviving through the lessons on a mixture of caffeine and energy drinks, but what worried Dudley was the recent slew of nightmares he had been having. If they carried on at school…

' _All the guys are gonna think I'm a loon. Great, Evans or whoever the fucker is, better leave me alone.'_ His thoughts became more despondent the more he lingered on his dreams. _'I wonder what's causing them. Maybe one of Potter's mates are doing it, using their freakishness as some sort of sick revenge cause we don't treat Potter like a God. When we went to pick up Potter at King's Cross, maybe they put it on me then. Or it was one of those Dementoid things… they didn't get my… soul so maybe they've decided to haunt me.'_

He shuddered at the possibility, a cold shiver dancing up his spine. Spending too much time in his heads wouldn't get him anywhere, so with a great amount of effort, he blanked his mind and chatted to his Mum as she paid for his school supplies.

* * *

The evening was spent with a family dinner in front of the television, Dudley speaking about the upcoming school year in terms of sport, leaving out any academic aspects to focus on his motivation for attending: boxing. He chatted with his Dad about the different types of jabs and how he could improve his technique, whilst calming his fretting Mum regarding the injuries he could sustain.

Dudley went off to bed at ten thirty, the same time as his parents, not wanting to dwell on his terrifying thoughts. Yes, he could end up encountering Evans in his dream tonight, but he was bigger, stronger and meaner than that snotty-nosed kid so he would be more prepared.

' _Cause if I go to sleep, telling myself that I'll beat him, then if I dream about him, I'll be ready for a fight. Yeah, that's a good idea.'_

However, when he ended up falling asleep on top of his bed, fan whirring to combat against the stuffy heat within the room, Dudley ended up dreaming peacefully. The Dark Lord watching in on his Muggle prey decided to leave the boy alone for the time being. Random attacks were best suited to breaking down the filth, otherwise the boy could become suspicious and end up alerting members of that traitorous organisation that wasted their lives campaigning to end him.

Voldemort watched Dudley sleep, Nagini curling around his wrist. It would be a sight to behold if he unleashed his pet onto the boy, to watch the child suffocate as Nagini dearly wrapped around him and crushed the oxygen out of the waste of skin, but he needed the boy.

Not for tonight though. Tonight, the Muggle would rest. Peacefully.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

The Dark Lord was contemplating. Years upon years of hiding had allowed for dwelling in his own thoughts, wondering why it had all gone wrong, wondering why he was defeated by a baby? A baby, a simple creature, for Merlin's sake! The youngest Potter generation should have been slaughtered, yet the weakest and easiest target had fallen. The main target who, according to the Prophecy, would bring along _his_ downfall.

Voldemort sneered, his new lips quivering from the sudden stretch. He was still adjusting to his new form, transforming from a defenceless creature (baby!) into a full-grown man, Potter's blood thrushing through his veins, had certainly been an improvement. Now that he was back, he could finally kill the 'Boy Who Lived' and reign supreme as the greatest wizard who ever lived, with both the corpses of Potter and Dumbledore displayed to their supporters, reminding them of what would happen to anyone who opposed him.

Firstly, he needed to deal with the spawn of the Muggle Evans woman.

The Dudley boy had the bearings of a simple mind, surprising that he was the leader of his little 'gang', but what he lacked in intelligence, he more than made up for in size. Strong as he was, he was still a weak fleshbag and Voldemort reckoned that it would not take much to make the boy quiver and beg. His sneer dissolved into a low chuckle. The traits the boy possessed were similar to those of Wormtail's and he could picture the two of them before him, two pairs of small beady eyes shifting round, determined to not lock gazes with their Master.

A knock to the door drew him out of his thoughts and a flick of his wand threw open the doors to the sight of Wormtail dragging in a bound and bloodied captive. The man, dressed in rich burgundy robes, fought hard against the ropes, but Wormtail's silver hand was clamped tight onto the man's collar and the struggle to be released was difficult. The wizard's eyes were dilated with fear and fury, beads of sweat dripping down from his temples and pooling into his dark-haired beard. Voldemort recognised not the name of the man, but the face. He was one of Dumbledore's supporters and when Wormtail confirmed that he worked closely with the likes of the Weasleys and Mad-Eye Moody, the man would most likely belong to that pathetic Organisation set up to fight _him._

True, the traitor could provide him with information, but he was a simple follower, not a key player in the group. Therefore, he was useless and could be disposed of. Gesturing to Wormtail, Voldemort smirked as the captive was shoved harshly to the wooden floor of the drawing room, wand whipped out of his long black sleeve, slender fingers lazily flicking the wand over the wriggling form of the man. His victim stiffened, the incantation freezing his body, but when the monster above him whispered words, his life was over.

The blood-curdling screams came out muffled behind his gag, but they were still haunting enough to make Wormtail flinch and avert his gaze as blood seeped out of the numerous cuts that crossed the man's body. The cuts became deeper and more painful, chunks of flesh torn apart as if they were chopped up by an imaginary saw wielded by a maniacal butcher.

Voldemort only stopped when the man was a mess of flesh and blood, long after the screams had stopped and the oxygen had left his lungs. Tucking his wand away, Voldemort rose from his throne and murmured:

"Dispose of this mess, Wormtail and I expect all of it to be spotless by the time I return, or I will take your other hand."

"Y-Yes, My Lord."

The Dark Lord left the drawing room and strode down one of the corridors, teeth flashing as he spotted Lucius approaching him from the other end of the corridor. His loyal follower stopped and bowed before him, attempting to stop his slight trembling in the presence of his Lord. Trembling meant weakness and Lucius _did not want_ to look weak in front of his leader, for the consequence of weakness would be death. If he were dead, who was to protect Narcissa and Draco? His own heir, who still had so much to learn, but who was already being primed to join the ranks of the Death Eaters.

"My Lord. Do you require my services?"

"Yes, Lucius. Your ties with the Ministry need to be used more effectively. You have a good relationship with the Minister, the gullible fool trusts you. Spread more rumours about Dumbledore in the Ministry, his reputation needs to be discredited. Plant seeds of doubt into the Minister's mind, I trust he already has a disdain for that old fool?"

"He dislikes him, my Lord. Believes that he is not as effective as he once was."

"Dumbledore has never been effective." Voldemort snarled. "He will get what is coming to him. Go to the Ministry in the morning and speak to the Minister."

"Of course, My Lord. Good night."

After a departing bow, Lucius left, Voldemort continuing forwards until he encountered Severus Snape standing at the foot of the grand staircase. Judging by the droplets of water on the floor, Severus had been caught in the rain and only recently.

"Ah, Severus. My most loyal follower." Snape swallowed his pride and hoped that the Dark Lord did not require much of his services, he had to get back to check on his latest batch of Wolfsbane for Lupin.

"Do you know if Potter would return to those Muggle relatives of his in the upcoming future? You are his _teacher,_ after all."

Snape's eyes widened slightly. How the hell did the Dark Lord know that Potter lived with his relatives?! _'He must have figured it out, the Dark Lord does always know… well, not everything and it is staying that way. I will have to answer him truthfully, Lily's love… the protection will stay strong, I am sure of it.'_

"He will be, My Lord. Certainly the next summer."

Voldemort did not grant him a response, simply turning on his heel and marching back towards the drawing room. His lips turned up in a flash of triumph. He hoped that Wormtail had finished tidying up the mess, otherwise, there would then be _two_ messes to clear up.

* * *

Dudley awoke and for the first time in a little while, he felt refreshed. His sleep had been peaceful and a bright smile lit up his face, a harsh comparison to his usual sullen expression upon waking up. He fluffed up his blond hair, sighing in relief. It was nearly the end of summer, but he was no longer experiencing nightmares and to Dudley, it was a dream come true.

Kicking aside his covers, Dudley sprang lightly out of bed, (a feat he would have been unable to do a year ago) and headed downstairs, ready for breakfast.

Once he had finished getting ready, still fully believing that whatever freakishness plaguing him had vanished, Dudley left his house and walked the path to the play park, seeing no one around apart from Mark Evans. The younger boy looked like he was trying to evaporate into thin air. He sat with his back to the trunk of a tree, curling his knees up and shoving his face into his book.

Dudley snorted, beefing up his appearance by puffing out his chest and swinging his arms up and down. He didn't bother quietening his footsteps as he approached Evans. His shadow dwarfed the trunk of the tree and looming over Evans, the familiar prey and predator roles they adopted fell easily into place. Evans glanced up and froze, a deer in the headlights.

"Time after time, I beat you up and time after time, you're here. What's wrong with you, Evans? Do you not get it?! Huh? I tell you if I see you round here again, I'll smash your face in. Here you are, about to get your face smashed in. See how this ends for you? Badly."

Evans shook so much, Dudley thought he was having a fit. He seemed unable to conjure up a reply, so instead, Dudley sunk his heavy fist into the small stomach. Evans cried out in pain, head reeling back from the sharp slap to his left cheek.

"Funny, huh? Thought you could spook me with all of your weird shit. Making me dream stuff and make me think I'm going crazy? _You freak, you're gonna pay for what you've done!"_

He didn't care if it was public, he didn't care he was on his own, he simply wanted Evans to pay for their past few encounters and Dudley needed to re-establish that dominance. _He_ was King of Little Whinging and everyone knew that he was not to be messed with.

Dudley lashed out with fists and feet, leaving the boy sobbing in agony and covered in blistering cuts and blackening bruises. Dudley laughed at the pain the boy was in, because why shouldn't he? Evans had caused all of that _shit_ at night, so why shouldn't he get his revenge?

He continued to punch and kick until the boy was losing consciousness, then stopped, panting for breath. Exerted from the warm-up, Dudley hauled Evans easily over his shoulder and tossed him into a blackberry bush to recover. He didn't want the kid dead, but he didn't want anyone finding him any time soon in the state he was in.

' _I'd get banged up… With Evans as my warden. That was bloody creepy. I'm glad it's all over now.'_

Wiping his hands free of Evan's blood, Dudley strolled out of the park and back towards home, whistling a merry tune. He was tired and thirsty. All he wanted was a lie-down, a pint of coca-cola and his mother on standby for snack service.

' _Wonder if there's any Crystal Maze on, I fancy laughing at people who can't figure out the mazes.'_

He put the key in the door five minutes later and walked into his house, throwing himself onto the sofa.

"Mum!"

His mother popped her head round the corner from the kitchen. "Yes, sweetums?"

"That walk tired me out. Get me some chocolate, yeah?"

Petunia's wide smile faltered. "But Duddy, your diet-"

Dudley waved a hand. "Pish posh. I'm so good at sticking to my diet, but I want some chocolate. Come on, Mum, you ain't gonna let me starve, are you?"

That very threat launched Petunia into action, and in no time at all, Dudley had the television blaring, a bowl of chocolate and large glass of coke resting in his hands.

"This is the life." He muttered as someone in one of the mazes got sealed in, evoking a bark of laughter.

Hours later, Dudley tumbled into bed, satisfied with the day's work. Evans was finally dealt with, and if he hadn't got the message by now…

' _Then he's as thick as pig shit. I'll have to give Piers a ring, see what's happening.'_

He closed his eyes and turned over onto his side, totally relaxed.

* * *

 _ **When he snapped his eyes open, he didn't see the comfort of his massive bedroom. All he saw was darkness. Dudley could feel the wind tickling the hairs on his arms, but the hairs on the back of his neck didn't rise from the cold, they rose from fear. Fear that was justified when a fist came flying out of nowhere and smashed into his mouth.**_

 _ **The power behind the punch was so intense that Dudley crumpled to the cold hard ground, one of his front teeth dislodging and slowly sliding down the back of his throat. Dudley opened his mouth, blood gushing into the back of his mouth, trying desperately not to swallow so he could save the tooth. But luck was not on his side and the tooth had gone, leaving him with a gaping hole where his tooth was.**_

 _ **Leaving him ugly.**_

 _ **Disorientated, Dudley pulled himself to his feet with a roar and prepared to block the next punch coming his way. This one collided with his stomach and the wind blew out of him, leaving him coughing and gasping for air. He was shoved to the floor, before hurtled with punches and kicks. Dudley yelled in pain, too proud to scream, because he was never on the receiving end of a beating. Especially when he was the Junior Heavyweight Boxing Champion for the South East!**_

 _ **Dudley could feel blood all around him, sticking to him and when he peered up at his attacker, his heart thudded in his chest and he sucked in a huge breath, only to let out a scream.**_

 _ **It was Mark fucking Evans. Again!**_

" _ **Oh my god…" Dudley muttered, in a state of shock as fists upon fists collided with his body. Small fists that packed a hell of a punch. Dudley tucked his head back down into his chest, wanting to curl up, similar to when he was young and cuddling his mum. If he had chosen to look up at that point, he would have been horrified to see a glimpse of the real perpetrator.**_

 _ **To see the Dark Lord's true face materialise as he once again invaded the dreams of a teenage boy in the guise of a tormented victim. He relished the boy's pain. Beating up younger children could pave the way for scaremongering and physical violence in support for the Dark Lord, if only the boy had an ounce of magical blood in him.**_

 _ **Yet he was a plain old Muggle and a spoiled brat to top it off.**_

 _ **Dudley broke down into tears as the fists fell away and he was left in the surrounding darkness, in his own private hell.**_


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

At first, he struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids flickered and the pupils became alert, but darkness was all he could see. His heart thudded in his chest and his breathing was laboured. He could sense another presence in the room and wanted to desperately wrench his eyes open to see if it was that damn Evans kid, because if it was…

Dudley tossed his head back and forth, the panic screeching up his lungs until it burst out into a blood-curdling scream. His arms grappled with the air above him, as if he were fighting off an attacker. The door to his room was slammed open and the bull-horn roar belonging to his Dad sounded out, the familiar worrisome cries of his Mum filling his senses, making Dudley strain to open his eyes, rage dipping into his scream.

Rough hands shook him and Dudley managed to wrench his eyes open, his blue irises connecting with his father's murky brown ones, his screams tapering off to a stunned silence and the sense of self-worth in him badgered on about how he had _'screamed in front of Dad and what a wimp that makes me, cause men don't scream and men don't cry.'_ But that dream had scared him. No, frightened him. Being attacked physically like that was traumatic…

Dudley sucked in a breath, rocketing his upper body upwards into a sitting position, his father's hands falling away from his arms. Dudley warily scanned his body, looking for any signs of an assault, any bruises or any bleeding cuts but there were none. He let out the breath he had been holding and crumpled into his mother's hold, shoulders shaking. Dudley didn't cry, _cause men don't cry,_ but he allowed a bit of emotional weakness to seep out.

Mum rubbed his back and Dad stuttered out words that were meant as encouraging, but Dudley took to be nonsense. He was glad his skin was fine, but what played on his mind was the realisation of his dreams. The dreams, or rather _nightmares,_ would be continuous. However hard he tried to convince himself they would not plague him every night, deep down, Dudley knew they would be there when he shut his eyes and he wondered what the hell he had done to deserve this.

Wrapping his arms around his mother's neck, Dudley buried his face into her shoulder, still trembling. Evans had turned him into a mess and to anyone who was thinking rationally, they would stay the hell away from Mark Evans in reality and beg for forgiveness if the demonic version of the boy ever came to them in their dreams.

But Dudley Dursley didn't like to think rationally. He was better than everyone else and it showed. _He_ got a good education from a private boarding school. _He_ lived on a well-off estate. _He_ was the leader of his gang of mates. _He_ got all the birds. _And he got everything he ever asked for._

Dudley lifted his head off of his mother's shoulders and narrowed his eyes at the wall, drowning out his parents' mutterings. He made a decision. Today would be the day that he _properly_ taught Evans a lesson.

' _Don't care whether he means too or not… actually, how the fuck does he hurt me in my dreams?... Whatever, he's probably a freak like Potter, he's done some scary shit to me to make me have these weird dreams and…. He's going to pay for ALL of this. No more dreams after this. I'll put Evans in the hospital if I have to… No, Dudley, too harsh. People will ask then. I'll warn him off. Yeah, I'll keep warning him off till he gets the hint in his thick skull and he'll leave me alone. Yeah.'_

Dudley managed to remove himself from his mother's clutches and remove the clumps of sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. Petunia smoothed her hand down the side of his face, cooing:

"I'll get your bedding in the wash, Duddy. Because you've had a horrible night, I'll cook you a full English. How does that sound?"

"Bloody good, Mum."

She winced slightly at the perceived 'bad word', but Dudley thought it better than what he really wanted to say:

' _Fucking marvellous! Cook that shit now so I can shove it in my gob.'_

His stomach rumbled, earning him a chuckle and a pat on the head from Dad. Dudley blushed slightly, swinging his legs out of his bed and hauling himself to his feet.

"Gonna shower. I want just one rasher of bacon, too much fat otherwise."

He padded out of his room, grabbing his towel on the way and entered the bathroom, kicking the door gently shut behind him.

* * *

The fry-up was what he needed and now he was swaggering down the road, heading towards the alleyway. He thought that Evans may avoid the park after their numerous recent run-ins in the play area, but if Evans were to linger down the alleyway, he'd have to admit, the kid had balls. The alleyway was coated in graffiti, (courtesy of him and his mates), but walking down there when they were around was like a death wish.

Yet it seemed lately, that Mark Evans did indeed have a death wish.

Lo and behold, Evans was walking down the alleyway, nervously twitching. Dudley stepped into the alleyway, lips peeling back unpleasantly. Evans caught sight of him straight away and froze on the spot, trembling from head to toe. When he had awakened yesterday evening in the blackberry bush he had been tossed into, he'd been frightened out of his wits and everything had _hurt._ He'd run home and been questioned on his bruises and bloody cuts by his Mum and Dad, but regardless of their concern and love for him, he told them he'd fallen off the climbing frame at a high height and hurt himself. _A lot._ They obviously hadn't believed him, but they had respected his wishes to not rush him to A and E, even though Mark knew that he should have gone. Painkillers numbed the agony of the hits, but he wouldn't be surprised if he'd broken a bone or two. Now, he was facing his tormentor yet again and he if went home bloody and bruised _again,_ he'd be straight up the hospital.

" _Evans,_ I keep having fucking weird dreams and somehow, they all involve _you._ Now, I'm giving you a warning. If you're doing something to me that involves… If you're doing something, just stop. Alright? This is your final warning."

Although Dudley seemed to be his normal confident self, Mark could not miss the dark circles under the older boy's eyes and the shocking notice of fear in Dudley's tone.

Was Dudley _scared of him?_ No, he couldn't be…

Mark swallowed and wrung his hands together. "I-I promise you. I'm n-not doing anything to invade your d-d-dreams. I w-w-wouldn't."

"How do I know if you're telling the truth?" Dudley whispered. Suddenly, all his bravado fell away and he was simply a scared young boy-man wanting to know the truth.

' _Because what even is the truth anymore? Is this real or a dream? Am I asleep… or awake?"_

"I-I wouldn't lie to you."

Dudley shook his head and Mark could have sworn he shook his head in a _sad manner._

"I don't believe you. I don't trust you to go all freaky again."

He expected the punch and tensed up for it, shutting his eyes, hands sweaty and begging internally for Dudley to lay up on him. Mark seemed to wait an eternity to be hit, for if he had opened his eyes, then he would have noticed the hesitation in Dudley. Noticed the way his fist stopped in the air, how his facial features softened momentarily, before hardening once more.

In the end, Dudley hit Mark Evans because that's how he solved his problems. With his fists. He needed to show his dominance so that if anything weird came up, _he could handle it._ No way was he going to show any weakness.

 _He'd die rather than show weakness in front of others._

Evans crashed to the floor, gasping in pain as the new brutal hit blossomed pain in his stomach. His eyes shot open and he stared up at Dudley, who was looking at him with fear. Dudley Dursley, boxing champion, looking fearfully at him? What had the world come to?

"D-Dudley? Are you okay?"

The response he got was a hit to the face that left him drowning in darkness. Dudley stared down at the unconscious body of Mark Evans and sneered. If the kid was really concerned about him, then he wouldn't torment him in his dreams. Giving Evans a good kick to the ribs, Dudley whirled round and marched off to the park.

He approached the park, taking in the sights of the swings moving gently in the slight breeze, the still roundabout, the climbing frame, the slide, the group of mothers with their children quickly hurrying away at the sight of the burly teenager come to prey on the innocent.

Dudley blinked and within that moment, he imagined the park on fire. The trees burning, the play equipment melting, the hot smell of ash infiltrating the air. Screams of innocents fading in and out. He smiled toothily, staring at the commotion.

His pupils dilated and as his smile stretched further and further, his irises flashed red.


	18. Chapter 18

**Italics in the first section to show a flashback.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

 _He had flagged down Piers as he approached the alleyway, performing wheelies on his BMX. It had been only a few minutes since he had returned from the park to Evans's unconscious body, but luckily, Evans had remained where he had left him and there were no blue flashing lights nearby. Piers had jumped off of his bike, taking a tumble and landing on his knees to Dudley's amusement. Standing up and brushing off the dirt he had collected on his shorts, Piers viewed the unconscious body with a raised eyebrow, then looked into Dudley's blue irises._

" _So D, what's the plan?"_

 _The two boys ended up carrying Evans to the back of Wisteria Lane, near where their victim lived. Dudley lifted Evans under his armpits, taking the full weight of the boy whilst Piers kept Evans's legs off of the ground by mere inches. They dumped him on a bench located on the corner of the street and hurried away, gazes drifting around to ensure they had not been spotted. Not a single person emerged from any one of the houses to confront them, so Piers verbally claimed they were free to carry on with their day. Dudley took a more morose thinking to the situation and that people had been watching them, they just simply didn't care enough to intervene._

 _After Piers fetched his bike by the alleyway, they sauntered back to the park, thankfully not on fire, and thudded down onto a pair of swings, their feet scraping against the gravel._

" _What happened with Evans then? Looked like he got a beating. What did he do? Call you a pig again?"_

 _Dudley closed his eyes with a pained sigh. This blossoming feeling of regret, one he seldom felt, was slowly eating away at him. Maybe he did take it too far with Evans, but he couldn't think about it now. Evans would be fine, true he was knocked out, but Dudley knew enough about injuries related to beatings that Evans had a fair chance of sustaining no long-term damage. All he would have were a collection of cuts and bruises. He squashed the regret down and opened his eyes, fingers coiling around the thick chains of the swing._

" _He was chatting shit. Again. I keep warning him to stay out of my face, but he's just constantly there. He should get the warning now."_

 _Piers snorted. "I should hope so. You done his face in bad, D."_

" _Did I?" The regret momentarily flared, before it was gone fully. "Good. Little shit needs to learn. When he wakes up, I bet he'll run screaming home and won't come out for weeks after today. Do you want to try and pinch some beer from the shop?"_

They'd been unsuccessful in taking the alcohol as the shop owner had been suspicious of them, so in the end, they had left with two ice creams. Piers made do with an orange Callipso, but Dudley went all out and got a Magnum, because to him, it had been a very taxing day and he deserved a treat. Biting the chocolate off was truly satisfying and he had been sorely tempted to raid the cupboard when he got home for his father's secret stash of chocolate. Before his diet, the stash had not been so secret and it would have been shared between himself and his Dad, but ever since the diet, Mum had for her son's well-being, hid the 'naughty things' away.

Upon arriving home, Dudley averted from the cupboard and went straight upstairs, plugging in his PlayStation. He played the game ' _Need For Speed: Payback'_ for several hours, only pausing to shove dinner down his throat before returning to gaming. The hours whizzed by and soon it was one am, Dudley throwing his controller aside and switching off the machines. He forced himself to the bathroom, giving a quick scrub to the teeth as they needed to look _fresh,_ returning to his room to lie back on his bed. As it was so hot, he was sleeping in only his boxers and the fan whirred at full blast.

Dudley stared up at the ceiling, mind drifting off to the land of slumber, confident that his dream that night would not turn into a freakish nightmare.

 _Oh, how wrong he was._

* * *

 _ **Dudley stood in the ashen filled park, the equipment unrecognisable and the acrid smell of burnt flesh lingering in the air. He looked down at himself, his plain grey t-shirt and shorts pristine and wondered what the hell had happened. His nostrils flared from the smell, but his skin and clothes remained free of soot or ash, as if he were standing a mile away. As if…**_

" _ **I'm not here at all." He whispered.**_

 _ **Dudley looked round the park, only noticing the pair of eyes staring back at him on his second sweep of the park. The eyes lingered in the darkness until the body moved forwards and he was face to face with Mark Evans, this time battered, bruised and bloodied.**_

 _ **Just how he had left him…**_

 _ **Dudley felt hate explode in his chest. Why was this freak always following him?! It was like he had some sort of vendetta against him!**_

" _ **Of course, I do. You beat me up every single day. It's only natural that I would want to claim revenge on you."**_

 _ **Dudley froze, the hairs on the back of his neck jumping up and goosebumps tickling his skin. He sputtered, unable to form a reply, but in his mind, he was going utterly mental.**_

' _ **HOW THE FUCK DID HE KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING?! NO, NO, I'M DREAMING! THIS IS ALL A DREAM, THIS ISN'T REAL, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON ANYMORE!'**_

" _ **Perhaps this is a dream, a fantasy, all made up in your head whilst you sleep. Or maybe you are wide awake and you are losing your sanity. Whatever mental state you are in, I will always be here."**_

 _ **Those words thudded in his ears and the mixture of the words and his rapid beating heart produced a crescendo of pure terror. Cracking his knuckles together, Dudley plastered on his ugliest sneer and snarled:**_

" _ **You can read my mind then, huh? Ruddy freak, you are. They should lock you up in a fucking looney bin! You're a FREAK, just like-"**_

" _ **Harry Potter? Am I so similar to your cousin? I wouldn't agree with you."**_

" _ **Stop speaking in riddles! You're a freak, simple as! And you STILL don't seem to get that I will beat you every day-"**_

 _ **Dudley lost his ability to speak. Not through any 'wizardry' means, but because of what Evans's face did next.**_

 _ **It changed. Dudley had never seen something so terrifying.**_

 _ **The face distorted, blurring a pre-pubescent image into one of grey skin, evil red eyes, no hair and Dudley cursed softly at the sight of no nose. Those little nostrils, they were terrifying and he backed up, tripping over a gnarled tree root and landing flat on his back. Dudley quickly pushed himself up to a seated position, only realising that Evans or whatever this freak was, had moved closer and was now looming over him. Dudley looked up in fascination as the face continued to mix between Evans and the no-nosed monster. He felt as if he should know the name and there was a niggle in the back of his mind, another presence calling out to him. Little did he know that the protection spell placed on himself and his relatives by his Aunt's sacrifice was trying to protect him. Protect him from the twisted figure above him. Reveal to him that the no-nosed monster was a certain Dark Lord, who had murdered two of his relatives and was hunting down his own cousin. To get help. To wake up from this nightmare and contact the Order, to let them know about the night terrors and the visions.**_

 _ **However, the attempt at contact was futile as surging his influence further into the dream, Voldemort strengthened his hold over the Dursley boy and flooded out any sane thoughts in his mind by hitting him with the Crucio spell. The boy flailed on the ground, a scream ripping free from his throat, but the Dark Lord was not finished with his plaything just yet.**_

 _ **Dudley took some time to recover from the shock of being electrocuted and the agony that coursed through his veins. He tried to blink the setting away, to awaken back in his bed, in his cosy room on his safe street. But as not expected, things did not go his way and he stared fearfully up at the set face of Mark Evans as the young boy bent over him and grabbed hold of his bare left arm.**_

 _ **Evans dug a nail into Dudley's flesh and the latter bit his lip to mask the cry of pain he wanted to voice. Evans smirked. "Big arms, you've got? Your flesh is so pure, so unmarked."**_

 _ **Evans fished around in the pocket of his black trousers for a moment, producing a familiar pack of cigarettes that Dudley found himself smoking almost every day.**_

" _ **Marlboro's? This is the brand that you smoke. Correct?"**_

 _ **Dudley found himself nodding quickly. Something told him that to delay his answer would result in more pain.**_

" _ **A disgusting habit. Your lungs must resemble tar at this precise moment. No, this will not do. I need you healthy."**_

 _ **That confused Dudley even further, but when Evans pulled out a cigarette and pushed it in between Dudley's lips, it all became much clearer. Tossing the open box aside, Evans clicked his fingers and suddenly, the cigarette was lit. Dudley jumped, afraid that he would be burnt and soon resemble the twisted fragments of playground equipment. He felt the tears drip onto his cheeks before he could stop them and loathed the satisfied smirk that played on the monster's lips. He was about to take a drag when Evans pried the cigarette out of his mouth and adjusting his grip on Dudley's arm, dropped the cigarette straight onto the flesh of his forearm.**_

 _ **It burned. Fuck, it burnt like hell! Dudley screamed, attempting to wrench his left arm out of the iron grip, eyes screwing up in pain as Evans twisted the cigarette stub back and forth, creating a circle of burns over the skin. Dudley hollered in pain, wanting this nightmare to end and begging with Evans to stop.**_

 _ **When the cigarette was pulled back and the pain subsided to a steady throb, Dudley's head fell back onto the gravel and he stared up at the sky, sobbing and clutching his left arm.**_

* * *

Eyes snapping open, Dudley clutched at the duvet covers and panted heavily. He didn't know what to think anymore. The events of the day carried over into his sleep and was screwing his whole life up. He fumbled for his lamp, switching on the light and sitting up to see his left arm sporting a series of small burns forming a large circle.

Dudley's breath caught in his throat and he gazed at the burns with wide eyes. The cigarette burn that Evans had given him… It was still with him. Ingrained into his flesh like a branding. He felt dizziness overtake him and before he could faint, Dudley clambered out of bed, holding his left arm out in front of him.

He scuttled along to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and pulling on the string for the light. As light flooded the sparkling clean bathroom, Dudley turned on the sink tap and thrust his lower arm under the cold water, hissing through gritted teeth as the steam rose up off of his arm.

"This is fucked up…" He whispered, rocking back and forth slowly as the pain was relieved and the water soothed his burns.

When he couldn't stand having any more cold water poured out onto his arm, Dudley turned off the tap and wrapped his burns in a fresh bandage, padding back to his room and sitting on his bed. He cupped his arm to his chest and tilted back to lie down on his sheets.

There would be no further sleep for him tonight.


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Daylight streamed through his window, the ray of light illuminating the patch of red blistering burns that brought pain. Pain that pierced through his groggy state and sent him rushing to the bathroom. The door was closed, but as Dudley wrapped his large hand around the handle and pushed down, a yell from inside the bathroom stopped him in his tracks.

"I'm in here! Pet, is that you?!"

"Nah, it's Dudley." Hissing under his breath from the pain that tingled up his arm, Dudley kept his hold on the door handle, but didn't push it open any further. "Can I come in? I… I'm all sweaty from last night. I need a shower."

"C-Can you wait? I might be a while." Dad's voice had dropped to a mere whisper, Dudley putting his ear against the door to hear. "I've got… some stomach problems at the moment."

Catching his Dad's drift so to speak, Dudley let go of the handle and pinched his nose, hoping that no _pungent aromas_ escaped the bathroom. He hurried back to his bedroom and threw on an old flannel shirt that was too tight this time last year, but now, it hugged his shoulder muscles and gave enough looseness around his arms that it didn't brush against the burns. Now it was covered from view, he had to securely bandage his wound, otherwise questions would start to be fired at him.

He hoped that his Dad would hurry up and get out of the bathroom so he could clean his wound and wrap his arm in fresh bandages. The only other way to sort his arm out was to do it downstairs in the kitchen sink, but there was one problem: _Mum._ It was hard enough to get her out of the kitchen in normal circumstances, but how was he supposed to come up with a plausible reason to get her out of there without her seeing his burns? Even if he could, he'd be rushed for time and if he didn't clean and dress his wound properly, he could get blood everywhere and how would he be able to explain _that?_

' _Mum would have a heart attack if anything happened to her kitchen. Actually, she'd collapse if anything happened to ME, so no way she's seeing my arm. God sake, I'll have to wait for Dad to come out of the bathroom. I'll have to fumigate it or whatever it's called to get rid of the stink. Jesus…"_

There was a ringing from downstairs and hearing his mother's soft delicate tone, Dudley paused, shuffling towards his open door and listening out on the landing.

"Of course, I'll just get him for you." The soft polite murmur reached his ears, before a louder call, tone adjusted to one of sweetness overload. "Duddykins! Phone for you!"

Shuddering at the nickname and hoping that whoever was on the phone had _not_ heard one of his sickening nicknames, Dudley hollered: "Who is it?"

For a brief terrifying moment, he imagined it to be the monster who plagued his dreams. The mix of Evans and the no-nosed creature, breathing down the phone in anticipation to spout more pretentious bullshit into his ear. It was the last thing Dudley needed that morning, especially when he still had to sort his arm out.

"It's Piers. He wanted to know if you could go out today. It's so lovely, all your little friends want to hang out with you. That is what you kids say now, isn't it? _'Hang out'?"_

"Yes, Mum." Dudley rolled his eyes. She was so insufferable sometimes. "I'm coming. Give me a sec."

Making sure that his arm was completely covered, Dudley buttoned up the shirt so the only skin on show was his legs and thumped down the stairs. His mother beamed proudly at him and after pecking him on the cheek and smoothing back his damp sweaty hair, passed him the phone. Dudley sidled into the hallway, standing near the bottom of the stairs.

"Alright?"

"Big D!" Piers's excited voice shrilled through the receiver and Dudley had to fight the urge to throw the corded phone across the room. "Want to go cinema later? They're still playing Die Hard With A Vengeance and it's the last chance to go see it! Gordon's coming, but I don't know if he'll get in."

"Why not?" Dudley already had his answer lined up, he needed the break away from his house and the park. And if the film wasn't crammed full of action, then he could always sneak a quick nap in the darkness and if he had another encounter with the Evans Monster, well he had his mates to wake him up if things got desperate.

"He ain't fifteen yet, is he?"

"Isn't he? I thought we already had his party. We got drunk and puked all over his garden."

"Nah, that was Dennis's. Gord's fifteen right at the end of August, I swear."

Dudley shrugged his massive shoulders, fingers playing with the cord. "Dunno. How am I supposed to know? I don't care. If he can't get in, ain't my problem. Should have been born earlier."

"Yeah." Piers chattered on about a new topic, but Dudley found that the words coming through the receiver were coming out all jumbled. He blinked and looked down at the receiver, wondering what was happening. The voice cut out and static crackled into his ear.

"Piers?... You've been cut off, hold on." He was about to walk back to the phone port and give it a good old smash when the voice he heard hiss through the receiver stopped him dead in the hallway.

" _ **Hello, Dudley. I've missed you, has it only been a few hours since we last met? Alas, I have come to enjoy your stupidity… I understand that you might be thinking now to go and tell someone. Someone who your cousin knows. Such as the murdering godfather or the woman with hundreds of spawn. They would be able to help you… But you shall not be contacting anyone. If you contact them, I will slaughter your mother and father. Besides, who would believe you? I am not real. I am only visible in your dreams. They would think you crazy."**_

 _Crazy. Slaughter. Mum. Dad. Help. Crazy._

Mouth dry, Dudley wrapped his clammy hand around the phone and drummed up enough courage to whisper: "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" The voice that replied to him didn't belong to the freak who pestered him constantly, and this time he wasn't referring to Harry. Piers was back and Dudley wasn't sure if he had nodded off. Perhaps Piers had been so boring, he'd nodded off for two seconds, dreamt hearing the voice on the other end of the line and woken himself up in a fright? Yeah, that sounded about right. He nodded to himself, but no matter how much he wanted to believe the self-satisfying story, sinister warnings continued to creep up on him.

"Dudley? You still there? Do you want to go cinema or not?"

"Yeah." He snapped, pushing past the unnatural feeling that plagued him. "Meet you there after lunch." Before Piers could say anything more, Dudley stormed back to the living room and slammed the phone down.

"Everything okay, Duddybun?"

He wanted to pinch the bridge of the nose to express his frustration, an action that Mum usually did when frustrated but because she was so obsessed with appearances, she would always do it when no-one was looking, but Dudley had definitely caught her doing it a few times and snickered under his breath at how pissed she would look in those moments. He didn't pinch, instead he exhaled slowly, a technique taught by his boxing coach to curb his temper and smiled.

"Yeah, phone was playing up. I'm going out after lunch with the guys. Can I have sausage sandwich? I'll have brown bread and only one sausage and I won't have any sauce."

"You won't have a little bit of brown sauce? You love brown sauce, Duddy. It won't hurt to have some, surely."

"Nah." Dudley patted his stomach. "Need to keep myself fit."

"Oh yes, I'm sure your girlfriend, when you're old enough to have one, will appreciate your six-pack."

" _Mum!"_ He was mortified. His Mum had never spoken about his body in such an embarrassing way, but now she'd gone and done it! His whole face was reddening and he was so thankful that no-one else had overheard the conversation. _How would he have lived that one down?!_

Petunia tittered in amusement, whilst Dudley wanted to curl up and die in the corner. She was so embarrassing!

"No sauce then, okay. I'm so proud of you, sweetie. You've done so well with your fitness regime. Just don't get too skinny, okay?"

"There's no chance of that, Mum." He knew he was big-boned and had inherited his Dad's genetics when it came to physicality. "What did you mean by _'when I'm old enough'?_ Can I not have a girlfriend then?"

"Well… y-you can, but I want you to keep things age-appropriate. You're only fifteen, baby."

' _Basically, you don't want me having sex in case I knock someone up. Well… I've had no kids yet and I'm not having none any time soon. I don't want to bring anyone home, cause you'll bloody interrogate them… I can't believe she said that about my abs! I wish Mum would shut up sometimes…'_

"I won't, Mum. I'm not interested in girls at the moment, I have exams coming up this year, I need to be focussed."

Petunia's eyes crinkled up, giving off the impression that she was ready to burst into tears. Dudley slipped his hand behind his back and crossed his fingers. _'Please don't cry.'_

"I'm done, Dudley. You can have your shower now." His Dad yelled from upstairs.

"Alright, I'm coming." He needed to sort his arm out asap, and after a quick peck to his Mum's cheek, barrelled up the stairs and into the bathroom, grabbing the air freshener and spraying it wildly before the rotten air could ruin his sense of smell.

* * *

He had managed to clean and bandage his arm tightly, shower without getting the bandage wet and satisfy his craving hunger with one simple sandwich and refuse carrot cake for afterwards. Dudley arrived at the cinema to find his four mates already there and fishing out his money from his pocket, he avoided anything to do with snacks and slapped the coins down onto the counter.

"Ticket for Die Hard. Before you ask, I'm fifteen so I can see it."

The girl behind the counter took his money and printed off his ticket, appraising him with approving eyes. "Would have thought you older, to be honest with how tall you are and all those… muscles."

Dudley gave a lop-sided smile and a wink. "You're stunning yourself, sweetheart." He looked over his shoulder to Gordon's stupid grin, then looked back to the girl. "My mate over there," Dudley lowered his voice so only she could hear him. "He's not fifteen yet and I know he don't look fifteen, so I'll save you the trouble. Do us a favour. Let him in. Come on, babe, I'll give you a kiss if you want."

The spark in her eyes was of lust and she nodded breathlessly, Dudley smiling smugly as she waved his friends forward. Once they had all received their tickets and his friends had snacks in hand, Dudley hung around to wait for the girl, Charlotte, to come on her break. She held up a hand, fingers outstretched to signal five minutes, Dudley leaning against the wall with a grin. He needed a distraction away from the strange dreams and freaky whispers. He didn't plan on making any arrangements afterwards with Charlotte, all she was for him was much needed physical attention that wouldn't harm him.

"Dud? You coming?"

His friends were lingering nearby, but all Dudley had to do was point towards Charlotte and waggle his tongue up and down. At his gesture, they all started cheering and Piers came over to thump him on the back. "I'll save you a seat, D."

"Cheers." Dudley knocked Piers aside softly, grinning from ear to ear as his friends all ran off to find their screening and Charlotte came out from behind the counter and over to him.

"Where's the best place to go?"

"There's an empty screening in number four. Some film no one's come to see. We can go in there, no one will see."

He grinned and followed behind her down the long corridor that branched off into different screenings. She opened the door that led into the empty screening and he ducked in after her, confronted by the sight of darkness flooding the bare seats and the gigantic screen flickering from scene to scene, playing to nobody save them.

They sidled into one of the middle rows and Dudley wasted no time in smashing his lips against hers.

* * *

He slid past his gang to the end of the row, settling himself against the wall comfortably as Piers nudged him in the side.

"Was she good?"

"Mate," Dudley looked at four eager faces. "Well good! Her tongue could do _everything!"_

His exclamation was met with whoops and cheers, and he laughed along with them. This was how it was. All of them mucking around and being lads. And causing as much trouble as possible.

"Can't believe they didn't ask me for ID!" Gordon sat back in his seat, digging his hand into his popcorn, eyes on the screen showing the latest trailers. Dennis smirked and snuck his hand into the same bag of popcorn, latching onto Gordon's wrist in a flash. Gordon swore and jumped, the popcorn flying everywhere as Dennis let go. They all fell about laughing, Gordon thumping Dennis on the shoulder. "Fucking idiot, look at my popcorn!" He said good-naturedly, but his tone turned sour when the people a few rows behind them called out:

"Hey, you kids! Keep it down! The film's about to start!"

Gordon whirled round and scowled. "We ain't kids. Pipe down yourself."

"Yeah." Dennis snarled. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking too?"

The man who had spoken gaped, appalled at the way he was being treated. Bundling up his belongings, he gestured to his wife and children, ushering them over to the other side of the screening. The boys watched them go, Malcolm crowing:

"That's what I thought, bunch of wankers!"

Piers cackled in delight and Dudley wanted to express his enjoyment of the whole charade, but there was a slight pressing in the back of his brain that told him to stop the laughter. _To make these fools quiet because who on earth would want to hear them laugh like hyenas?_

"Shut up. It's gonna start and I want to watch it without you lot yapping on."

The boys cracked up even more at his authoritative tone, Piers grinning and deciding to amuse his best friend.

"Alright, D, I know you're the 'leader' but you're not in the military. You don't have to bark out orders."

His grin faded at the sight of Dudley's cold glare and the words that shot from his lips.

"I am the leader and you'll do as I say. So, shut your mouth and watch the ruddy film!"

He turned back to look at the screen, ignoring the looks and whispers of his friends. Now he wanted some peace and quiet and as the film began to play, he settled backwards, clearing his mind to enjoy some sick action.

Dudley did witness sick action, but to his utmost horror, this action wasn't fictional. Everyone was enthralled by John McClane's latest escapade and watched Bruce Willis on-screen trash talk and shoot his way out of trouble. However, after a little while, Dudley no longer saw an actor performing in a high-octane thriller. Instead, he saw a young bearded man running for his life through a campsite, the fear etched onto his face like a cartoon. He sprinted so fast he became a blur, but he fell forwards upon being hit by a green light and lay face-down in the grass. Dudley could tell he was dead.

The scene changed on the screen to a family, a Mum, a Dad, two little girls. They were cornered in their house, the parents begging the masked intruders to spare their children, to take whatever expensive items they wanted, to simply leave them alone. Yet they didn't and Dudley's jaw dropped open at the flames that protruded out of one of the intruder's cloak, the flames hugging the nearby rug. The family huddled closer together, screaming hysterically, whilst Dudley watched on, mind pounding against his temples. The scene faded to black and he massaged his temples. Where had the fire come from? It looked like…

Another scene started and suddenly, Dudley heard the voice. The monster, free from Evan's squeaky tone, speaking to someone in front of him. A smooth yet cold as ice voice. A voice that held all the control, all the power. The voice that haunted him practically every night.

All he saw was green light and the other voice, the one broken and desperate, stopped and Dudley knew he was dead. He hitched his breath. These _killings_ were all real, they must be! Unless he was imagining everything… but was his imagination this messed up?!

Scene after scene of people brutally murdered played and by the time the last one, a baby of only nine months, ended, Dudley felt tears drip down his face. He quickly wiped them away, not wanting his friends to see them, because he was _Big D_ and he never cried.

"That was wicked! Did you like it, D?"

Dudley blinked, lingering in the darkness for a few seconds, before his eyes flew open and he was staring at a screen that was rolling the credits, the end music blasting out into the lightened screening. He tried to wipe away his shock because he was back, watching the credits of a film he'd only seen half of, and surrounded by friends who would turn their backs on him if they found out he was going fucking crazy.

He looked at his mates and mustered a watery grin. "Yeah… Wicked."

"You alright, D?" The concern on Malcolm's face made the panic rise in his chest. "You look dead pale. You gonna be sick?"

"Y-Yeah." He slowly stood up, wobbling on his feet. He towered over his friends and was the strong one, the leader, but now he was shaking like a leaf. His voice cracked and he slammed the side of his fist into his chest, coughing. "Need to go t-toilet."

Dudley swung his leg over the chair and hauled himself up into the row above, rushing along the empty row to the doors. He barged out into the foyer and over to the toilets. As soon as he entered the bathroom, he ducked into the nearest empty one, locked the door behind him and collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet. He ended up emptying his stomach of the tasty sausage sandwich he'd consumed earlier, heaving until there was nothing left to bring up, then reeled back, leaning his head back against the wall.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his left hand, Dudley held up his right hand. Usually, he showed no fear and the hand would be dead straight. Not even a tremor. Now, it was shaking all over the place.

' _Like I've got Parkinson's. Great. I want to go home.'_

Dudley took a few minutes to regain himself, before pulling himself up, flushing the chain on his way out. He unlocked the door and ambled over to the sinks, staring at himself in the mirror. Pale face, damp blond hair sticking to his forehead, dark shadows under his small eyes. He looked horrendous, not his usual pristine self.

"Mum's gonna lose her head if she sees me like this." He mumbled under his breath, hand outstretched to turn the tap. Before he could even twist it, the sink he was at exploded with water, streaming from the tap he was about to turn. Dudley faltered in shock, eyes darting round the bathroom. No-one was with him, no freaks were lurking about using their freakishness to mess with him.

' _Unless they're invisible… Oh God, those killings I saw, the one with the fire… They had those sticks! They must have done! Hidden up their sleeves and made fire!'_

This discovery did calming him no favours and Dudley found himself turning round and exiting the bathroom, leaving the tap running at full pressure.

* * *

He walked with his friends silently back to Privet Drive, nodding when they arranged to meet up in a few hours time. Dudley watched them go, catching the lingering glance that Piers sent him, turning to walk down his road when movement caught his eye.

He couldn't believe it. No matter how many warnings he gave him, Mark Evans seemed to constantly have daily death wishes and made it his duty to come across his tormentor.

' _Maybe he likes being beaten up. Does he get off on it? Sicko.'_

"What the hell do you want?" Dudley asked tiredly. "I already told you a thousand and one times that if I see you, I'll pound you. I know you're messing with my mind, you and that… _thing._ I don't know if it's you two together or just you, but stop. You're doing my head in and messing my mind up."

Evans looked miserably up at him, bruised face a reminder of his past mistakes. "Mum and Dad took me to A and E. I didn't want to go. I didn't say it was you, said I fell of the climbing frame. Badly. I don't think they believed me, but I kept telling them so… I haven't broken anything. Just bruised and cuts, so I got bandaged up and they let me go after looking after me for awhile. I don't want to mess with you, D-Dudley."

"So, why you here? I swear, if you don't leave my sight, I'll-"

He stopped as his intimidating gesture, shoving his fist in Evans's face, caused his bandaged arm to rub up against his long sleeved top, a reminder of the nightmare he'd experienced last night. It warned of getting another beating if he beat up Evans, so maybe, just maybe, he could leave him alone.

"You know what?" Dudley shoved Evans away. "Go home. I'm tired and you ain't worth my time."

He strode away, down to his house, not looking back to see what Evans had decided to do. He needed to clean his teeth, pronto, to get the lingering taste of sick out of his mouth.

* * *

Four pm approached and Dudley ambled out of his house, teeth squeaky clean and stomach pumped full of protein shakes. After where his lunch had gone, he hadn't fancied food so settled on two protein shakes, before undertaking sets of press-ups, sit-ups and lunges. He'd collapsed on his bed afterwards, fan whirring at maximum speed and heart racing, but he'd performed well. Now all he needed was another cold shower and to get ready for going out.

Dudley met his mates on one of the side streets and they loitered around the delicately trimmed front gardens, near the primary school. Their laughter at a memory of chasing a five year old last month died down and Dudley decided to open his mouth and say something.

 _What a big mistake._

"I've been having dreams. N-Nightmares more like. They're scary, like I think they're affecting my life when I'm awake. I d-don't want to go to sleep tonight to be honest."

There was a pregnant silence, before his mates fell about laughing, doubling over and clutching their sides. Malcolm slapped Dennis on the back in hysterics and Dudley watched them all, his temper flaring ever so slowly.

"Oh, oh, I'm scared Mummy! I might have a nightmare! Oh, I might wet the bed, it's so scary!"

"Aghhh! It's Freddy Kruger, come to kill Dudley in his dreams cause he's been bad! Oh shit, will Dudley ever wake up again?!"

"How can dreams be scary?! Only little kids are scared of fucking _dreams!"_

The rage unleashed. Dudley shook head to toe, incensed at their comments. He was going to beat them all to a pulp. Piers, who had been laughing but made no comments, subsided his laughter to reach out to his best friend.

"Dud, come on, it's a joke. Take it easy."

' _Easy? EASY?! These fuckers have NO IDEA the stress I've been through! They wouldn't like it if some monster haunted them 24/7! They better shut up before I beat them!'_

"Big D? Chill, relax."

Dudley sniped at Piers: "Don't tell me to relax, I-"

He saw the twisting face to the right and as he moved his vision, he saw Dennis's face change to Evans's and it would have been comical, a ten year old's face on a teenage body, but it was truly terrifying that Dudley ended up giving into panic.

Dudley gasped and backed away, wanting to get far away as possible. Piers moved forwards as the others fell silent and looked confused.

"Dudley? Where you going? Calm down, okay? Sorry we laughed. Just stop and talk to me!"

He only stopped round the corner, out of sight of Malcolm, Dennis and Gordon, but when Piers caught up to him, Dudley exploded with anger.

"Them jerks don't know nothing! I'm having bad dreams and you lot _laugh in my face!_ I-I'm trying to tell you guys stuff and this is the reaction I get…"

Piers absorbed the anger, used to his best friend's outbursts, before speaking calmly:

"Sorry. I shouldn't have laughed, that was a crap thing to do. You're my best mate, Dud and I don't want you to suffer. I'm sure the nightmares will go away. They do eventually. But if you're up one night and can't sleep, call me, yeah? I can even come round and we can play PlayStation." He smiled. "You're the cool one with the PlayStation. I only got crappy GameCube."

Dudley smiled half-heartedly back. He loved bragging about the latest equipment he was given and although it was sissy to do, he appreciated Piers's sincere statement.

It was nice to have at least one good friend in the world.


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you for the reviews, follows and favourites. Means a lot. I feel quite inspired writing this fic to Eminem's 'Evil Twin'. Feels like some parts relate to Dudley and what he's going through.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWENTY**

"Will you be alright getting home?"

It was like something out of a cheesy American rom-com, the type of film that Dudley certainly _didn't watch._ He was all about action and jump scares and gore, not fluffy things, like _love._ So when his best friend of eleven years requested permission to walk him home, Dudley faked a gagging fit.

"Hell no! I'm not a baby! Jesus, I think I can get home by myself. Why you treating me like a spastic?!"

Piers, used to Dudley's fiery temper, held his hands up in a placating manner.

"D, I'm only asking if you're alright. Don't have a go at me."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Dudley narrowed his eyes. "You're retarded, you know that?"

"So are you." The words slipped out before he could stop them and Piers watched his best friend with wide eyes. Dudley's face contorted to one of fury, nostrils flaring, blue irises darkening in anger. He lashed out with a fist, but to Piers' relief, it simply struck his arm, the blow soft.

"This is why I like you. You ain't a coward. You can stand up to me, not like these other fuckers."

The two boys stared at each other, before guffawing together, Dudley's face relaxing, all of the rage dissipating as if it were a puff of smoke.

"I'll see you around, Polkiss." Dudley clutched his side, the fit of laughter causing a stitch to spasm near his ribs. Turning round, he ambled off towards his home, chuckling to himself. Piers was like his brother from another mother. He could always count on him.

Piers' smile faded as his best friend turned the corner, now out of sight. "See you around, Big D." He whispered to himself, his concern for the younger boy rising after what he had just witnessed. He would have to keep an eye on Dudley in the upcoming weeks, in case any other strange incidents occurred.

* * *

Dudley shut the front door behind him and without taking off his shoes, flung himself onto the sofa, groping around for the television remote. Only till recently was there a deep groove of his body imprinted into the sofa, from all the times over the years where he had lazed about the entire day, watching the television. Since he had been forced into exercising daily and come to the realisation that he enjoyed it immensely, the routine of sitting in front of the telly all day dropped to only a few days a week, until it became a couple of hours per week. True, he had a telly upstairs as well, but when he was bored, his weights were there to help him improve his stamina and build up his muscles.

Cause, as everyone knew, _girls loved muscles._

Dudley found the remote wedged between the seat covers, pulling it out and pressing the 'ON' button. The television screen exploded into a gameshow, one that was so stupid he couldn't help laughing at. It was ridiculous, one question was simply: '2+2=?' and the correct answer would provide the contestant with £100! Dudley scoffed, musing smugly to himself.

' _I wouldn't need to go on a gameshow to get £100. I'd just ask Dad to give me the money.'_

He continued to watch the gameshow until it ended, changing to another channel that was showing a boring old film. Dudley tossed the remote to the end of the sofa, settling down and tried to watch the film. It was in black and white, meaning it was already draining away his brain cells and in a quiet house, his Mum and Dad were both out, Dudley decided to chance the risk and try and catch up on some sleep.

The nightmares had affected his sleep, but he knew enough about sleep deprivation and the effects it could have on your state of mind to force him into closing his eyes. Messed up dreams or not, he needed sleep and there was no way he'd get to that state where he would let the _monster_ win.

' _Maybe cause it's day time, he won't be ready for me falling asleep and I'll be free to sleep. Better leave me alone, you thick bastard.'_ He thought to himself, curling his knees up to his chest to try and get more comfortable. It only took ten minutes to fully fall into slumber, due to his interrupted sleep pattern over the last several days, and once asleep, his left hand dropped over the side of the sofa.

* * *

 _ **He awoke not in his house, where he had fallen asleep, but in the neighbourhood. He recognised his neighbourhood by the park he frequented regularly, but apart from the park not being on fire this time, nothing else seemed familiar. He sat up in the field next to the park, the swing that Potter had been sitting on when he and his gang had approached him on that night, squeaking back and forth. He looked up from where he lay flat on his back, the grass cushioned underneath his weight. The sky was blood-red. It seemed as if he were in Hell. A lot of people would say that was where he belonged or where he'll end up when his life was cut off. Dudley didn't think he was a bad person, no matter how many 'bad' deeds the Dementoids had shown him, and he thought that Potter deserved a place in Hell much more than him. After all, he wasn't a freak.**_

 _ **Dudley stood up and looked down at himself. He was wearing a ratty old pair of jeans, a black Adidas jumper, his favourite gold chain resting lightly on his chest. His feet were bare and he wiggled his pale toes in the dry grass. His blond hair felt itchy and upon running his fingers through the strands, he could tell it needed a good wash. A good sniff of the fingers made him grimace. He longed for a shower. Not knowing why he was out in the field wasn't his biggest priority right now, getting clean was what he needed to do.**_

 _ **Dudley lifted his gaze and stepped forwards, but after five steps, he swore loudly.**_

" _ **Shit… don't tell me that's what I think it is." He lifted his right foot, examining the sole and grimaced again. He'd stepped in dog shit! Dudley cursed again and hopped over to a fresh patch of grass, wiping his dirty foot in an attempt to get all of the muck off.**_

" _ **Do you need something to help wipe that mess off of your foot?"**_

 _ **He looked around to find the source of the voice, but he couldn't find anyone. The swings continued to gently move and the blades of grass flattened as he spun round in a panic. No-one popped up to give him a fright, but even after he confirmed to himself that there truly was no-one around, he was terrified.**_

 _ **That voice… it was the fucking no-nosed monster.**_

" _ **Do not panic yourself, child. I am not here to harm you. All I want to do is provide you with an offer."**_

 _ **Dudley's mouth went dry and his breath shuddered. Why couldn't this freak just leave him alone?! What had he done to deserve this?!**_

" _ **W-What offer?" He hated how his voice cracked. He wasn't a stuttering spastic!**_

 _ **The voice, because that was all it was, chuckled. "The offer for you to gain all the power in the world."**_

 _ **Power. He had to admit to himself that power was one of his wants in life. He had it at the moment, with him being the leader of the gang and the boxing champion of the South East. Dad had power at Grunnings, in charge of people's jobs and their careers. He wanted power like that, not necessarily through work, but he wanted to be in charge.**_

" _ **What do you mean? Be like the Prime M-Minister?"**_

 _ **The laughter directed at his answer hurt. It was bitter and the snarled response made him feel small. However, there was no way he was going to express that to this demon freak.**_

" _ **You foolish boy. The Prime Minister of your pathetic world does nothing. He is merely a pawn. No, the power I would give to you… it would mean that people feared you. People would bow down before you and fear your name."**_

 _ **He couldn't help snorting. "Don't think people would fear the name 'Dudley', I mean… it ain't a name that strikes fear in the heart."**_

" _ **I believe the name is quite befitting, actually." Was this freak paying him a compliment? "You are a dud." Maybe not then.**_

 _ **Dudley curled his hands up into fists. "Shut your mouth!"**_

 _ **The sinister undertone of the voice now overwhelmed him. "I would keep your tongue under control, boy. Or you'll be leaving here without one. I am offering you power, but first… you must let me in."**_

 _ **What Dudley did not know was that the owner of the voice could easily intrude on his mind and break the worthless muggle down from the inside, but it would be so glorious to persuade the boy to allow himself access and then when the Dursley boy broke down, the only one he would have to blame is himself.**_

" _ **W-Why would I do that?!" Dudley glanced up to the sky, spotting a dark cloud in the distance. The cloud drifted closer and closer, until it resembled the form of a skull with a snake slithering from the mouth. He pointed a finger up at the image. "What the fuck is that?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!"**_

 _ **The voice did not comply with providing him answers. Instead, it began to whisper over and over:**_

" _ **Let me in, let me in, let me in…"**_

 _ **The whispering intensified and Dudley clapped his hands over his ears, bending down, eyes screwed tightly shut. The sole of his foot was still dirty, but he didn't care. He wanted the voice, now rattling around in his brain, to stop speaking. The request for him to let the freak 'in' was driving him mad and a part of him felt tempted to drop his hands and let the voice invade. Let himself be lavished with the praise and attention that he felt he deserved. After all, he was Dudley Dursley. His name held a lot of reputation.**_

 _ **But in the end, the voice was irritating him far too much. He shook his head wildly, trying to dislodge the voice from his mind. He would have power, but coming from this no-nosed monster… he'd rather be friends with Potter and that was saying something!**_

" _ **Will you accept?" The mantra had stopped and Dudley decided to provide his own answer.**_

" _ **N-No!"**_

 _ **The pain that struck him made him collapse into a ball. He writhed on the ground, veins in his neck straining as he attempted to escape from the aim of fire. His limbs twisted out straight, pained scream filling the field. He was convinced that he was going to break his bones if he kept flopping around like a fish. Dudley's head was close to whacking against the ground and he hollered for help.**_

 _ **But no-one came.**_

* * *

His eyes shot open, body frozen in the position he went to sleep in. His left hand was still dangling over the side, but the fingers attached to the hand were bent to form claws. As if he were being attacked and was trying to subconsciously self-defend himself…

A blanket was tucked up under his chin and he knew straight away that his Mum was home. She must have drooled at the sight of him asleep on the sofa, her little baby all tired out from his busy life, and her tucking in him must have reminded her of years ago when he was a little boy and she would sit with him until he felt asleep and made sure he was comfortable before leaving him.

Dudley sat up, realising that he was covered in sweat once again, but he would blame it on the heat if anyone asked.

"Mum? Dad?"

He waited for a response, but he didn't get a reply. Only silence resonated in his house, the television in the living room switched off. Grumbling to himself, Dudley was about to throw off the blanket when he started to feel light-headed. Head swaying back and forth, he yawned deeply. Suddenly, he felt exhausted again and the soothing whisper to go back to sleep was too tempting, so he let his head hit the soft pillow that had been propped up behind him and his eyes fluttered shut.

* * *

When Dudley next awoke, he wasn't at home. He didn't remember what he had dreamed, so had no idea if he had encountered Evans or the no-nosed monster again. All he knew was that he was lying down in the field he'd been in that was in the nightmare, but this time, he was staring up at a blue sky.

He was back to reality.

Dudley quickly stood up, noticing that families were staring at him. He took a quick look down at himself, panicking that he may be naked, but he was all secure, wearing the clothes he had gone to sleep in. He was still covered in sweat, but he had no shoes on. Mum must have taken them off when she put the blanket over him. But one question was worrying him.

' _If I was sleeping, how the hell did I get here?'_

One word jumped out to him and he paled. _Sleepwalking._ As far as he knew, nobody within his family had a history of the condition, but he reckoned that a relative he shared with Potter, one of the freaks, could have been diagnosed with it and through the confusing world of genetics, had passed it onto Dudley.

' _Great. Now I'm sleepwalking. Well, I can't have that. I could walk into traffic and be hit by a car. Or worse… that freak could come in the middle of the night and get me to come outside. Nah, fuck that.'_

He was thankful that his Dad dealt with drills, as it meant there were plenty of them stored around the house and they wouldn't have to wait for someone to come out and fit the lock he wanted installed. Dudley hoped that Dad wouldn't kick up a fuss to having to do manual labour, but if he begged and pleaded enough, he would get his way. Because he always did.

Dudley sprinted all the way home, not caring he was drenched in sweat and his feet were ripping up from the hot and gravel covered pavement. He wanted to get home and stay there, before he fell asleep again and walked the rounds of the neighbourhood.

As he approached the house, his Mum and Dad were getting out of the car. Evidently, they had left the house again when he'd woken up on the sofa. Both of them stared at him in shock, Petunia speaking first.

"Duddy! We thought you'd still be asleep! You must have been exhausted, you looked so peaceful sleeping."

"Why aren't you wearing any shoes, son?"

He didn't know how to explain why he looked like a tramp, so he ended up shrugging his shoulders, mumbling: "Too hot to wear my shoes. I woke up and needed some fresh air. Only been round the block."

"Dudders! You're all hot, let me run you a cold bath."

"Thanks, Mum." Dudley followed his parents into the house, waiting for Petunia to walk up the stairs before turning to Vernon.

"Dad. You got any locks you can put on a door?"

"Yes, why? Do you want me to put another one on the boy's door before he comes back next summer?" His Dad's eyes seemed to gleam, adding a fifth lock would be the highlight of his day. Little bugger definitely wouldn't be able to blast the door down now.

"No… I want it for my door." He tried to keep the panic at bay, but if the words tumbled out… then the freak would be after him and his parents would be dead. He'd have to come up with a plausible excuse.

"Why do you need a lock, Dudders?"

Face flaming at the mere thought of saying it in front of his Dad, Dudley muttered: "I-In case, M-Mum walks in when I'm… you know…"

Vernon arched an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

' _Do you want a demonstration?!'_ Dudley sighed. "H-Having some a-alone time…"

"I don't get it. What do you mean exactly?"

If he could have slapped himself in the face, he would have done, but he didn't want to mess up his face.

"I need it for privacy, ok? It's my room and I want it done." He twisted his lips into a sour expression, stomping his foot like he used to when he was younger and throwing a temper tantrum. "I want one fitted. Today."

His Dad nodded, bemused, but he would do anything for his only son. As he went off to get the equipment, Dudley headed up the stairs, ready to get into the cold bath.

Once he was settled down for bed, Dudley closed his door, securing the lock firmly and sighed in relief. Mum had worried in case there was a fire and he couldn't escape, but Dudley had reassured her by saying he could easily climb out the window. What he didn't tell her was that he'd had months of practice by sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet the gang, his parents fast asleep and unaware of their child's movements.

Dudley lay down on the covers on his bed and exhaled slowly. If he went to sleepwalk, he would hopefully be unable to unlock the door and simply stay inside his bedroom until he awoke. It was the best bet to keep himself safe, but he couldn't help comparing his bedroom to his second bedroom, (because it wasn't Potter's and it would truly be), and how the bars on the window were similar to his installed lock.

They both felt like prisons and Dudley guessed he was a prisoner in his own home. But unlike Potter, he didn't deserve to be locked away, plus his lock was on the inside so he could open it at any time.

All he wanted was safety, if not from the freak, but from himself.


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**

"Why you wearing long sleeves in this heat, D? It's baking."

He didn't really have an excuse to wear long sleeves in the height of summer, but he would never show the burn on his arm. True, he could just easily lie and say that he burnt his arm on the oven, but when did he ever use the oven? Mum cooked all of his food, besides he wasn't that clumsy to burn himself. He was a boxer after all! Balance was key and judging from his track record, his current title of Champion, he was far from clumsy. Instead, Dudley shrugged off the question from Dennis.

"It's a cool shirt. I wanted to wear it. Problem?"

"No." Dennis shook his head. "Just think it's weird, it's like 30 degrees."

Dudley narrowed his eyes. Why did Dennis keep banging on about his choice of clothing? He was winding him up!

"Shut up. No one cares. I'm bored."

"How about we go and find Evans?" Malcolm grinned and Dudley found he badly wanted to knock his front two teeth out, to ruin the smile that was fraying his unsteady nerves.

"How about you do as I say and we go and get some spray paint? They've scrubbed off some of the old stuff we did, but I reckon we could add some new pieces of artwork. What do you think?" This time, Dudley wore the smarmy grin and he wore it with pride, because he had come up with a genius idea and he was managing to evade Evans at all costs, regardless of the strength in numbers provided by his friends. Another run-in with that messed up kid would send him running for the hills, and hopefully not land him in the mental hospital.

" _ **Where you belong…"**_

The Evans-Monster voice was haunting his mind and Dudley released a growl into the air, trudging off towards the local shops.

"I'm gonna buy some colours. Wait here."

Nobody complained about him barking out orders, so he continued on with his walk, glad to be alone. He may be left with his thoughts, but he needed to ebb his anger. One more minute stuck with Malcolm's bloody grin and he would have wiped it clean off.

Dudley walked past the row of identical pristine residences and pulled a face. Little Whinging was so _homely_ , a village obsessed on looking good and everyone being best neighbours with each other.

' _Ha. Like anyone round here actually likes each other. Think all the old biddies are secretly plotting each other's downfalls. Mum certainly don't like anyone from round here, but she's so desperate to be top of the neighbour chain that she sucks up to them. She needs to get a life.'_

He winced slightly at the thought. Mum was a good person and she strived for the best, but the reasons why, were pathetic. Who cared if your neighbours liked you? Dudley knew that all of the neighbours either hated or feared him, no doubt both, but did he care? Hell no! As Dad often said, _"It's either beat them or be beaten. What are you going to do, Son? Let people walk all over you? No, because that's not the Dursley way!"_

He had grown up with that mantra and when his interest in boxing had spiked after his first proper win, (and the fact the weight was falling off of him and he could now breathe easily after walking up a flight of stairs), Dudley had used his father's words to propel his tough-man image. Because if he wasn't tough, then he would be an easy target. Fat jokes would have no effect anymore, but the jibes about his _'lack of intelligence'_ and _'ignorance'_ chanted over the years by Potter would crawl under his skin and fester, similar to the burn on his arm. And constant snipes at him would make him snap and then the day would come, where he _would_ knock someone's front teeth out.

Regardless of the freakishness and the strange dreams, Dudley had to put on a brave front, his resolve was not crumbling away and it definitely wouldn't at any point in the future. _He'd be strong… because he was a Dursley._

Dudley entered the B&Q and headed straight for the aisle that contained a small section of spray paint. They were not created specifically for graffiti art, but in the village of Little Whinging, spray paint from B&Q was what they were lumped with. He studied the cans with interest, noting out the corner of his eye how one of the employees, a middle-aged bloke with a drooping beer belly, watched him from afar.

Dudley rolled his eyes as he cradled six cans against his chest. Of course the man was suspicious of him and probably was expecting him to swipe the spray paint!

"I'm not that stupid." He mumbled under his breath, turning on his heel and heading towards the check-out, shooting a smug smile at the employee as he passed by. Dudley weaved his way through the small crowd of people near the displays and went to join the queue at checkout 3, until the panting of one suspicious employee made him halt and look round.

The employee, name card stating Barry, slotted himself behind an empty desk, heaving himself onto the chair with a satisfied sigh. He put a hand to his chest, to steady his breathing, then gestured to Dudley.

"Young man, I'll serve you. I'm opening up now."

' _Barry thinks he's got me in his sights. Well, two can play at that game.'_

Dudley fixed on his best smile, the smile that radiated from thousands upon thousands of pictures, and strode over to the check-out. He dumped the cans onto the surface and fished out his wallet as Barry scanned through each can, gaze darting up and down to appraise the huge youth before him. Once all of his cans had been scanned through, Dudley slapped down a twenty pound note, leaned forward and said through gritted teeth:

"I want my change, _please."_

The shock Barry felt at the thug having actually paid for the spray cans, instead of bolting out of the shop as expected, was overwhelming. He fiddled with his cash register, handing Dudley his change and a receipt, too stunned to even utter a word.

Snatching the change and receipt out of Barry's hand, Dudley stuffed them into his pocket and said: "Have a nice day." Before leaving the shop, laughing mirthlessly to himself.

It didn't take him long to get back to his friends and after he had shared out the cans, they started to decorate the alley walls. They continued on until the cans were fully depleted. The group chucked them onto the ground, Dudley rolling his neck muscles to loosen the tension. Throughout the time spent creating more graffiti, his concentration had been broken several times by the prickling of the hair on the back of his neck. He had felt like someone was watching him… like _Evans_ was watching him. It was unnerving and every time he had looked round, he had been unable to see anyone. It was difficult to ignore the paranoia that swarmed around his mind and that feeling still lingered with him.

"Meet at the park tomorrow? Bring your bikes."

"Sorry, Dud." Gordon spoke up, looking slightly sheepish. "Mum and Dad have got a funeral they're going too and they want me to come."

Dudley stopped all movement and stared at him. "Don't go then."

"It's my Great Aunt's. I kind of have too."

"It don't matter. She's dead, ain't she? She won't know you're not there."

"Yeah, but they'll lose their shit if I don't go-"

"Whatever." Dudley snarled, turning away from his friend to appraise the others. "Anyone else got other plans they want to let me in on?"

His mood darkened as one by one, his friends spoke up.

"Got a date."

"With who?"

"Becca. She goes Stonewall… Oh, you got to remember her, Big D! She went primary school with us. Had big tits back then, but mate, they're massive now. Going to get McDonalds with her, so I can't."

"I'm going to London. It's my Mum's birthday. We're going for a meal and to see a show. Dunno what it's called, but I can't back out of it. We'll be out all day, sorry mate."

Piers simply shrugged his shoulders when Dudley turned his blazing eyes onto him. "Going to a football match with Dad. West Ham. Tickets aren't refundable so I'm not backing out of it, D. We can all see each other the day after tomorrow."

The paranoia latched onto the words that were thrown at his face and Dudley curled his thick fingers into fists, hanging by his sides. He realised what they were doing. _They didn't want to be around him._ One sign of him going a bit mental and already, they want to cut ties. Dudley's chest pulsated with rage as the voice that tormented him nightly drifted smoothly into his ears.

" _ **They loathe you. They despise your company and are making up reasons to not come and see you. Don't you see the looks they share between one another? I know that you are clever when it comes to people. You have received so much hatred in your life, from teachers to other children to strangers, that you can easily recognise the signs. Face it, Dudley, they do not want you around. Tell them. Tell them how you feel."**_

The voice urged him on so strongly that he couldn't form rational thoughts. To slow down and think that this voice speaking to him was the one who corrupted his dreams and worse, _was a freak._ Instead, he let all the emotion pour out in a rant.

"You're all a bunch of wankers. Making up excuses cause you're all too chicken to say it to my face. I know you think I've gone all messed up in the head, well I haven't. You lot need to get over yourselves. I'm the leader of this gang. Not you lot. So, you know what? Fuck off!"

Dudley stormed off, ignoring the calls after him, only wishing to get home and control his emotions. No way was he _sad_ because he didn't get _sad,_ but he needed an outlet for how he was feeling. And there was only one way now that would make him feel completely better. Binge eating was a habit that he had managed to control after years of bottling up his emotions and letting out his boredom and anger onto food. Since he had overhauled his body image, he still enjoyed his food and would never be as skinny as Mum, but he had been strict with himself and not gorged once.

Now, he wanted to sit down, surrounded by food and consume everything.

* * *

Dudley slammed the front door behind him, relieved that his parents were out by the silence that greeted him within the four walls. Mum was always trying to bulk up his portions, but if she saw him relapse, she'd be straight on the phone to emergency services. He wasn't a fucking drug addict. If he broke his diet regime slightly, it didn't mean he needed help.

Dudley rooted through the back of the cupboards, his Dad's stash of sweets spilling out into his hands. He walked over to the settee in the living room and dropped them onto the coffee table, before moving back over to the kitchen and fishing out a half eaten bar of Galaxy stuffed behind the cereal boxes. Dudley pulled out a loaf of fresh bread and after buttering it, stuffed it with cocktail sausages and Walkers crisps, smothering it in the tomato ketchup. He licked his fingers as he searched the freezer, snatching a tub of Haagen-Dazs Belgian Chocolate out of the bottom drawer and a dessert spoon from the cutlery drawer.

He spread his meal out across the coffee table on different sized plates, before tucking in. He swiftly finished off the Galaxy chocolate bar, disposing of the wrapper into the bin. Dudley wasn't thinking of the consequences or the questions that his parents may ask him upon discovery of his evening activities. Instead, he crammed his sandwich into his mouth, piling sweets in between mouthfuls. The flavour combination was heaven for him and he sank back into the flowery cushions, eyes closing in happiness.

Only twenty minutes later, all of the food had been consumed and as he pulled the dirty spoon out of his mouth and dropped it into the empty tub of ice cream, Dudley exhaled, leaning back to alleviate his uncomfortableness. His stomach gurgled and Dudley groaned softly. This was going to be a tough job to digest everything after so long, but it made him feel better… Truthfully, only _slightly better._

The clock in the living room chimed eight times and Dudley decided it was time for bed. Whether he had another nightmare or not, he didn't care at that moment in time. Sickness was creeping up on him and he was going to scurry off to bed, before he collapsed and was forced to wait for Mum and Dad to get home to roll him off to bed.

Dudley chuckled depressingly, standing up to his full height. He shoved every wrapper and leftover crumbs into the bin, then headed towards the stairs, where he didn't bother stopping by the bathroom to brush his teeth, simply locking the door behind him, easing back onto his bed and burying half his face into his pillow. The unbearable heat, fighting back against the fan that desperately attempted to whirr cool air into the room, was making his long-sleeved top stick to his skin, but he was too stuffed to try and take his top off.

Tiredness overwhelmed him and this time, he didn't try and fight it off, sinking into darkness where dreams awaited him.


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**

The invasion of his mind was never felt by the owner. Sleep consumed all of the owner's awareness and there was not the slightest hint to the mind that he was at risk, so when contact was made, the mind welcomed the Dark Lord into a warm embrace because it was not aware of the threat and pain that would soon come.

Voldemort shifted through the boy's memories, focussing on the specific ones for the day. The fall-out between the boy's 'friends' was pleasing to him. Isolation was good. When there was a crisis, Dudley would have nobody to turn to for support. However, isolation could be risky as if the boy behaved oddly enough, then his enemies would be alerted and the Dark Lord's plans could potentially be ruined by supporters of the old fool. Yet for now, Dudley was becoming unhinged and he was easily falling into the palm of his hand.

The events of the day he had witnessed had amused him, up until the point the boy had stepped over the threshold of the house he lived in and self-imploded. Voldemort viewed the boy gathering together food of all varieties, mixing together ingredients that made the Dark Lord wrinkle his thin lips into an expression of distaste. The boy was consuming his entire body mass, (if not more) in calories and watching Dudley stuff food into his mouth, shoving it down deep to the back of his throat, caused Voldemort to sneer in disgust.

How uncivilised the Muggle was! It was yet another reason why the Muggle race were so inferior to those who had magical blood running through their veins. They could be even more worthless and putrid than Mudbloods and considering the boy's Aunt had been a Mudblood herself, his veins were tainted by filthy blood.

Voldemort was pleased when Dudley finally stopped eating, sinking back into the settee and looking to be in great discomfort. _Good._ The boy deserved to have the consequences dealt to him if he was not going to make responsible choices in life. Whether the boy killed himself gorging on food, choking on a blockage, would not be a tragedy. Any empathy he ever possessed had vanished a lifetime ago and only the boy would be to blame.

' _One Muggle taking himself out before my Death Eaters get to him. How disappointed they would be. Bellatrix would have had a lot of fun with this one.'_

Under normal circumstances, the Dark Lord would not care. However, if the boy damaged his physical being or even ended up dead because of a lack of control, then his plans to take over the boy would be shattered. Regardless of the filthy blood that tainted the boy, and therefore _him_ when he was inevitably in control, Dudley was useful. The look on Potter's face when confronted with his worst fear parading around in the body of his cousin was a reaction he could not wait for. Besides, who would question a Muggle when searching for the Dark Lord? No-one would realise that the Muggle they were conversing with was the one who would soon rule the world.

Using the boy meant that he would have to put a stop to all the disgusting eating habits. He needed a vessel who was physically fit enough and in order to traumatise Potter, Dudley would be used. Thus, the boy needed to be healthy and it meant taking drastic action.

Centred in the boy's mind, Voldemort was easily able to cast an Imperius curse onto the nerve system, interweaving his influence onto the boy's preferences and messing up his digestive system, so that any unhealthy food ingested would cause a delayed acid reflux reaction. The boy undoubtedly would be spending a lot of time in the bathroom, considering how it seemed to take him a while to learn and understand new factors in his life, such as his digestive system only wanting healthy foods and no matter how much Muggle fast food he shoved down his throat, none of it would be staying there for long.

Voldemort smiled wickedly to himself. Dudley would have to come to realise that only limited foods, such as salads, could be kept down and _wouldn't that be so awful for the greedy pig?_ Keeping him healthy was a main factor, but teaching the boy a lesson that he could simply not have everything he wished for in life would be an eye-opener. After all, he was a Muggle and he needed to be aware of his place.

Now to have some fun with the boy in his sleep.

* * *

 _ **Dudley woke up in his bed, duvet tucked up to his chin, arms splayed out on top of the covers. His fingers played with the striped material, blue eyes staring up at the cream coloured ceiling. The ceiling was smooth, but cracks forming up above inclined his head to the side, eyes widening as the ceiling soon formed a spiderweb of cracks.**_

 _ **Kicking off the duvet, Dudley lurched to the side, rolling out of bed and scrabbling for the door. As he shut it behind him, not noticing that the door had been unlocked, a momentous crash shook the entire house and he didn't need to open the door behind him to confirm that his bedroom ceiling had only gone and collapsed on his room. Dudley leant back against his door, hoping he didn't end up falling backwards into a deathtrap, letting out a shaky breath.**_

 _ **If he had stayed in his room, he would have been crushed by the ceiling… and wouldn't that have been a way to go out of this world?**_

 _ **Not noticing how quiet the rest of the house was now that the shaking had stopped, Dudley cupped his mouth with his hand, the dust seeping out from under his bedroom door and clogging up the landing. He brought his watery gaze up to the wall opposite him and the sight he encountered caused him to narrow his eyes. The framed photograph of his first time wearing his secondary school uniform had been defaced. Over the protective cover, a speech bubble had been drawn in black marker, words crudely spelt out in the minimum space that was not taken up by his pre-pubescent form. Dudley growled deep in his chest. The words that his eleven year old self apparently was saying were:**_

" _ **I'M A FAT PIG!"**_

 _ **There was only one person in this household who would mock him and stoop low enough to try and get a comeback.**_

" _ **Potter." Dudley dropped his hand away from his mouth and clenched them both into fists. "I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch."**_

 _ **The memory of Potter's disappearance after the family's hospital visit did not come to the forefront of his mind so without realising that his cousin was no longer in the house, Dudley stormed over to the door that led to his second bedroom and banged his fist onto the wood.**_

" _ **Oi, Potter! Open up! I know it was you who wrote that stuff on my picture! Come on, open the door! Face me like a man!"**_

 _ **He waited for a few seconds, but his patience had always been a little thin, so without asking for permission (why should he? It was still his second bedroom), he shouldered the door open and stepped into the room. Potter was nowhere in sight, neither was his pet bird. The bed was unmade and one of the floorboards had been lifted up, revealing an empty space where no doubt, Potter stored voodoo dolls representing Dudley and his parents when he was back during the summer.**_

" _ **What a sick freak." Dudley sneered, ashamed to be related to the younger boy. All of Potter's possessions were gone, Dudley tutting in disapproval, an action his mother was fond of.**_

" _ **Must have run off to those red-head's house. He's smart, I give him that. He knew I'd go mad when I saw what he'd done to my picture."**_

 _ **He shuddered, not feeling comfortable standing in a room that was contaminated by freakishness. Quickly, he backed out of the room and shut the door behind him, moving his gaze to his parents' bedroom. All that commotion and racket hadn't stirred either of them. He was surprised, as his mother was such a light sleeper. Any time he had sneaked downstairs when he had been bigger to have a midnight snack, she had followed after him. Not to chastise, but to sit with him and talk, smiling fondly at him as he stuffed his face. Yet any time he was either sneaking out of the house or back in from a late night gathering with his mates, she was not awake. Unless she was, but allowed him to get away with it…**_

 _ **Dudley shook these thoughts away and went over to the door, knocking on the wood softly.**_

" _ **Mum? Dad? You awake? I need to talk."**_

 _ **Obviously, the ceiling collapsing on his room wasn't his fault, but he wanted a bit of reassurance, even stretch to a need for a cuddle from his Mum. He was shaken up by the experience and wanted to know where Potter had gone off too and would he be coming back next summer, as all the kid did was ruin their lives and it was pointless having him back. All they had in common was blood and ancestry, but Dudley didn't want Potter back in his house. He was fucked up and Dudley couldn't have his reputation discredited any more than it had already been by that boy.**_

 _ **No-one answered his call, so adding an extra knock, Dudley pushed open the door and poked his head round. The bed was empty, but freshly made. The pungent smell of the lavender air freshener that Mum insisted on spraying around the room invaded his nostrils and he pulled his head out of the room, shutting the door. Dudley turned round and headed towards the stairs, pausing at the top. He stared down at the series of photographs that lined the wall, happily smiling at how much he was involved in the photos, until his gaze reached the last one. There was a splatter of red on the edge of the frame and Dudley found himself racing down the stairs to have a look and to confirm to himself that it wasn't blood.**_

 _ **His knees buckled upon inspecting the frame. It was stained, and he had seen enough gory films to know that it was blood, and the smiling faces of his Mum, Dad and his baby self settled dread into his stomach. Dudley turned into the hall-way and slowly crept along, breath hitching at the further stains coating his framed achievements.**_

" _ **Mum? D-Dad? You alright? P-Please tell me you're alright?!"**_

 _ **He lay his hand onto the door leading to the kitchen and exhaled deeply, part of him wishing he had armed himself in case there was an intruder, but he was confident in his ability to fight someone off. He packed a fierce punch and if anyone had tried to hurt his parents, they'd get a proper beating. Dudley swallowed down the growing lump in his throat, before pushing down the handle and opening the door. He stepped into the kitchen and sniffed. There was a strong suspicious smell and a buzzing of flies. Dudley stared round the kitchen, saw the mess on the counters and paled.**_

 _ **Mum would never leave the kitchen in a state, even in an emergency situation. It could only mean one thing – she had been interrupted, or worse, attacked.**_

" _ **Mum?" The panic he felt tinged the tone of his voice. "Where are you?"**_

 _ **Dudley turned his head to the left to inspect the kitchen table, but what he saw made him back away fast, hands clamping over his mouth in horror, back slamming into the wall. His father was sat in one of the chairs, slumped over the table. He could have been drunk, but there was a lot of blood surrounding him and the horrible smell and the big long carved slit round the mass of his neck summed up one thing.**_

 _ **Dad was dead. And he had been murdered.**_

 _ **Dudley's hands dropped away and he screamed, eyes welling up in pain and sadness. His Dad couldn't be dead! No way could he have been killed like that! Dad was strong, he wouldn't have gone down without a fight!**_

 _ **Beginning to cry deeply, Dudley wailed: "DAD! DAD, NO! YOU CAN'T BE DEAD!"**_

 _ **The thought of an intruder still lurking in the house made him more alert and although his body didn't want to move, too stunned by shock and grief, he pitched forwards round to the living room. Dudley caught sight of his mother's white heels poking out from in front of the settee and seeing them unmoving made his heart nearly stop.**_

" _ **M-Mum?"**_

 _ **He slowly stepped forwards, heart thudding in his ears, not wanting to believe anything that had happened whilst he had been upstairs, asleep. If his parents had been killed and he had been sleeping, not attempting to save them… he would never forgive himself.**_

 _ **Dudley made his way round to the front of the sofa and collapsed to his knees, hands covering his mouth once again, sobbing in agony. Mum's neck was broken, pale blue eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. Her dress was ripped, a sign that someone had grabbed her as she had tried to run, but she wasn't bloody like Dad. Dad's neck had been sliced open with a blade, hers had been twisted with bare hands. As if she were a lamb led to the slaughter.**_

 _ **Dudley moved his hands from his mouth to his hair, fingers pulling tight on the roots. He sobbed and wailed, rocking back and forth on his knees. All of the memories and moments shared with his parents flashed through his mind and he lowered his head, stretching his mouth wide to raise the pitch of the scream. He was probably turning the neighbour's ears bloody with the sound of his screams, but some fucker had killed his parents in cold blood! And he was going to get revenge!**_

 _ **Dudley stood up, balance shaky and stumbled away from his mother's body, increasing his pace as the bile rose up in his throat. He was going to throw up, hell he needed too, and ended up racing up the stairs two at a time. Dudley shoved the bathroom door open and hurled himself before the toilet, lifting the lid up and letting himself be sick, mind thrashing in panic. He was sick until his stomach heaved and only spit flew out. Eyes wide and body trembling, Dudley wiped his mouth with a bit of toilet paper then pulled himself up using the side of the bath to balance himself on. He tottered over to the sink, hands cupping the sides and stared down into the plughole, thinking of how his life has now drained away by the brutal deaths of his parents.**_

 _ **He raised his head to stare at himself in the mirror when the sight of blood smeared over his cheeks and mouth stalled his heart in terror. Red eyes flashed back at him and his lips tugged into a devious smile in the reflection. His tongue darted out to smear the blood further round his lips and from behind his back, he produced a machete, slick with blood.**_

 _ **Hands flying free from the sink, Dudley stumbled back and put his hands to his face. They came away sticky and red. He let loose a scream as he realised that HE was the murderer. HE had killed his parents in cold blood and judging from the reflection in the mirror, had been happy in executing them. Dudley pulled his hair again, strands tainted red from the blood and stared up at the ceiling, the spiderweb of cracks spreading out. He closed his eyes, prepared for his fate as the ceiling collapsed on top of him.**_

* * *

In his bedroom, ceiling intact, Dudley's eyes shot open and he shrieked in panic. His body writhed and he cried for help. He was utterly terrified and was sweating so much he could have melted.

"MUM! HELP! MUM! HELP ME! MUMMY!"

No help seemed to come for ages and Dudley found his duvet wrapping around himself and he struggled to free himself, kicking and screaming, face wracked with pain and grief. He was inconsolable and only did his heart bloom in relief when the door handle was yanked down, his Dad banging on the door.

"DUDDERS! WE CAN'T OPEN THE DOOR! YOU MUST HAVE LOCKED IT! OPEN UP, SON!"

"DUDDYKINS! PLEASE, OPEN UP!"

He was too petrified to get out of bed, _because what if his parents were actually dead and they were zombified versions of them, ready to exact revenge and tear his head off in justice for killing them?_ The shouts and bangs continued and desperation hit an all-time high so with much effort, Dudley fell out of bed, shrieks getting louder and louder as he wrenched the duvet off. He scrambled towards the door, panting similar to a dog, feeling like the world was swimming around him.

Dudley used the door handle to pull himself up, fingers scrabbling on the lock and as soon as the door was unlocked and wrenched open, he fell onto his mother, Petunia struggling to support her son's sudden body mass on top of her. Her thin arms wrapped around Dudley and as he buried his face into her shoulder, she felt tears spring to her eyes, unable to help her beloved child. He shook in her arms and she rocked him slowly, soothing him with soft shushes. Vernon stood behind her, staring down at his son in shock, not having witnessed his son cry so much since he was an infant.

All he could do frown under his bushy moustache and pat his son on the shoulder.


	23. Chapter 23

**Dudley is starting to become unhinged in reality. He is now more prone to hallucinations and will get memories and events mixed up, as evidenced by this chapter. Thank you everyone for your reviews, favourites and follows or if you simply just read the story. Appreciate it.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWENTY THREE**

Petunia, on reflection, was unsure of how she had gotten her son to calm down. He had been so emotional that herself and Vernon were getting desperate and were debating on whether or not to get professional help. Eventually, Dudley had calmed himself enough to stop crying, but continued to cling onto his mother tightly, sniffling to himself. Vernon, leading the way, had guided them down the stairs and hurried off to get a blanket as Petunia gently sat Dudley down in her husband's armchair. His arms continued to grip onto her tightly, but with calming ministrations, Petunia had managed to sidle away and set about preparing the settee for her son.

Vernon had brought over an old knitted blanket that his mother-in-law had created for them as a present for when they had been expecting Dudley. Petunia had accepted it gratefully, but they'd never used it before today. He waited for his wife to help lower their son onto the settee, Petunia sealing her lips shut despite the amount of sweat that would permeate the material of her best sofa covers. She helped Dudley to lean his head back onto one of the poufy cushions and as he lay down on his back, Vernon tossed the blanket over their son. He received a glare from his wife, but couldn't understand why until she straightened the blanket over Dudley, tucking the covers up to his chin and making sure his arms and legs were covered.

The blue and white square patched blanket was soft and Dudley snuggled up underneath the material, glad for his Mum sticking around to comfort him. Dad slumped into the armchair, out of breath after running up the stairs to grab the blanket, and Dudley found his heartbeat racing once again. Last time Dad had been slumped…

"D-Dad?"

His Dad snapped his neck up, Dudley wincing at the creak of muscles. "Yes, Son? Are you okay now? You gave your Mother and I a fright. Bad dream?"

Dudley nodded. "Y-Yeah. I know it's only a dream and only k-kids have nightmares."

"Not true, honey." Petunia perched on the edge of the sofa, reaching her hand out to smooth down the damp blond locks. "Everyone has nightmares from time to time. I had one last week. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You've had a bad one, that's all. Now, why don't you try and get some more sleep? You look exhausted, baby."

" _More sleep?!"_ Dudley was fearful that Evans would come and pursue him again. "What time is it?" He glanced towards the window, spotting the sunlight streaming through the windows. "Is it morning already?"

"It's seven thirty in the morning." Petunia pulled her hand back and smiled. "Close your eyes, sweetheart."

"O-Okay." Dudley gestured to the television. "Can you p-put the telly on please? J-Just cause I don't want silence when I'm sleeping."

"Of course." Petunia smiled, eyes drifting to the bin besides the sofa. She could see the wastage in the bin and could guess what Dudley had done last night when they were out, but she was tactful enough to not mention anything. _Her husband on the other hand…_

"See you had a bit of a treat last night, Dudders." Vernon grinned and winked. "Don't blame you. All that exercise must build up a raging appetite. Bet you enjoyed it."

Dudley lifted his head slightly off of the cushion and grimaced. "Felt sick afterwards. I know I shouldn't have done it, but…"

He drifted off, not sure if he should justify himself, but seeing Mum's soothing smile helped calm him. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Having more food than you have been recently isn't bad. You deserve it." She picked up the remote control off of the coffee table and switched on the television. "Lie back and shut your eyes, Duddykins."

Dudley listened to her advice and dropped his head back onto the cushion, closing his eyes as the soft noise of a music video from MTV played in the background.

His head dipped to the side on the cushion and his lips parted open slightly, falling into a peaceful slumber, his worries over what he would now dream fading away.

* * *

He slept for three and a half hours, waking up to the smell of bacon. Dudley opened his eyes, blinking blearily and called out:

"Mum! W-What are you cooking?"

"Bacon and eggs, darling Dinky! I thought after your little nightmare you could do with good food down you!"

Petunia tottered into the room a few moments later, plate filled with sizzling bacon and two fried eggs balancing on a tray. As Dudley sat up, she set the tray on his lap and placed a glass of water down on a coaster on the table. She folded her hands over the pocket on her apron and beamed.

"I made the eggs runny for you. I remember how you like them. If you want any sauce or bread to dip in your eggs, let me know sunshine. Okay?"

Her fixated smile screamed for praise, so wearily, Dudley nodded. "Ta, Mum. Looks great. This will do me." He looked over to the empty armchair. "Where's Dad?"

"He's fixing the car." Petunia's smile drooped slightly. "He thinks there's something dodgy with the engine. Not to worry though, Daddy will fix it."

Relieved that his Dad wasn't lying around somewhere with his neck slit open, Dudley rolled his eyes as his mother went back into the kitchen.

' _Dad's way of fixing something is shouting at it.'_

He picked up the knife and fork and cut open one of the eggs, watching the yolk ooze out onto the plate. Dudley stiffened, the orange flashing to red and then all of the images flooded back. _Dad, blood everywhere, Mum, neck broken, himself, looking in the mirror, evil grin and giant fucking machete._

He blinked, coming back to himself. The images were gone and the egg yolk was a normal orange colour once again. He speared a piece of the egg onto his fork and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Upon swallowing the food, Dudley's stomach rumbled loudly. It seemed that despite the binge-eating session last night, his body was now hungry. He ate the bacon and the rest of the eggs, putting aside the tray to curl up on his side and stare at the television, which had been changed to a news channel. As he blanked out, (he didn't watch the news, hell he barely knew who the Prime Minister was), a sick feeling congealed in his throat and no matter how much he swallowed, the sickness stayed put.

Dudley picked up the glass of water, sitting up so he didn't spill it all over him and took a big sip. He still felt the same, so drank half the glass before slamming it down and shooting to his feet. He was groggy and disorientated, but managed to race up the stairs and similar to in his dream, stuck his head down the toilet and puked up his eggs and bacon. When he had finished, Dudley rocked back on his heels, wiping his mouth with a tissue from the nearby box and wondered where his sudden sickness had come from.

' _Maybe it was from last night? Like when you feel alright drinking, but the next day get a fucking bad hangover and feel like you're hanging out your arse. It's like that but with food? I only had bacon and eggs, why should that make me sick?'_

He flushed the toilet and staggered downstairs, lying back down on the sofa and pulling the blanket half over his legs. It was still baking hot, even though he was inside the comfort of his house.

' _Guess it didn't matter if the guys were busy. I'm a bloody invalid at the moment.'_

Dudley moped for five minutes, despondent that he had been sick and was most likely coming down with an illness, when something tickled the back of his mind. A niggling sensation wormed its way through and when the soothing voice spoke, he bolted upright to a sitting position, body stiffening in anticipation.

" _ **Eat a salad. Be healthy. Do it now."**_

The irises of his eyes flashed red and his face slacked, his mind free from worry and anxiety. From another point of view, someone looking at Dudley would say that he was in a trance. A puppet on poised strings, waiting for their Master to commence their dance.

"Mum! Make me a salad!"

Anyone else would be surprised by this demand, but Petunia Dursley was used to her husband's and son's wishes and at the end of the day, they always respected her cooking. She was there to provide them with love and attention and if her Duddy wanted a salad, then a salad he would get.

"Do you want chicken?"

"No! Just a plain salad! _I don't want chicken!"_

He stared straight at the television, for once tuning into a speech being made at the House of Commons as he waited for his salad. His Mum emerged into the living room only a couple of minutes later and set the plate down onto the table.

"Enjoy, pumpkin."

Dudley nodded and shooed her away with his hand. "I want to eat in peace."

Slightly stung by his words, Petunia's bottom lip wobbled at the rejection, but she respected her son's wishes and left the room. Dudley picked up the fork and scooped a mouthful of salad up, staying in the trance until the entire plate was cleared.

His eyes no longer had a red glean to them and his mind was again filled with confusion, when he plucked out a leaf from between his teeth and pulled a face.

"Yuck. I hate plain salad… Why did I ask for salad in the first place? That voice told me to do it… Oh god, it's talking to me in reality." He mumbled under his breath, eyes bulging and palms saturating with sweat. Dudley flicked the leaf away, finished off his glass of water and lay back down on the settee, cuddling the blanket up to his chest. Humiliation coursed through him as he hadn't even put up a fight against the voice, simply given in to its command and turned into a ruddy rabbit.

"Christ sake." Dudley muttered, eyes glued to the ceiling, trying not to think of the spiderweb of cracks.

A late lunch consisting of cold turkey sandwiches stayed down for all of half an hour before he raced off to the bathroom once more. The demand for salad did not occur, but an attempt at keeping down a small portion of steak and chips sent him hurtling back to the bathroom, head down the toilet per usual.

* * *

Here he was at eight pm, starving hungry and bored out of his mind. The only consolation he had was that when he'd checked his bandaged arm, he'd discovered a happy realisation. The bandages came off and there was no burn. Smooth skin greeted his eyes and Dudley grinned. No more long sleeves to swelter through, so one of his issues had gone away, but he needed to get some fresh air so decided to get changed.

Dudley had a speedy flannel wash, before pulling on fresh underwear, a gym top and a pair of baggy Adidas shorts, sliding his feet into battered black trainers. He left his hair ungroomed and didn't bother with any chains. After promising Mum he wouldn't be too long, he left the house and made his way towards the play park, wanting to sit on the grass and relieve his mind from the dreadful dreams that plagued him most nights.

As he approached the park, four loitering figures caught his attention. It was his mates, but weren't they all supposed to be busy? Dudley narrowed his eyes and swaggered over, puffing out his chest.

"Thought you fags were all busy? Or are you all bad liars?"

Dennis opened his mouth, about to ask Dudley why he was in such a rough state, but Piers jumped in first.

"We all finished our duties early, Malcolm's date got cancelled. She took one look at his face and scarpered." Piers snickered at Malcolm's outraged expression, before changing the topic.

"You alright, D? You were a bit weird throwing that fit yesterday."

Dudley winced slightly, having forgotten his hissy fit. In hindsight, he had overreacted in a major way, but was he going to let his friends know that he was in the wrong? _No way._

He shrugged. "It's all cool. Look, can we get some food? I'm starving."

"You not eaten?"

"Nah, not really. Can we get chicken and chips?... Actually, might just have chicken. Got to be healthy, ain't I?"

The others agreed and soon, they were making their way to the local chippy. Dudley hung back slightly, feeling out of sorts. He was so hungry that his vision was becoming blurred and he felt faint from hunger. True, he'd vomited up his food, but surely he couldn't be very ill from one day's lack of food?

The mention of chicken, greasy chicken and chips fried in deep fat oil, made his mouth water. He licked his lips, _(the blood)_ , and stumbled forwards, fingers wiggling in anticipation. It was similar to when he was thirteen and they regularly visited the kebab shop. The staff were so familiar with him, they were on first name terms and he'd always get discounts. One time, when they had sipped vodka round the back of the trees like they were hardcore, Dudley had been dared to go into the shop and eat from the meat rack spinning round behind the counter. He'd done it, but got chased out of the shop, lamb meat stuck between his teeth and a huge chunk torn out of the meat rack in the shop as a reminder of his greediness.

Dudley drooled onto the front of his shirt, walking sluggishly along and wondering why the world looked so weird. He felt out of body and giggled at the sight of multi-coloured flowers singing to him. He was hallucinating, from lack of hunger or sleep or the fucking voice in his head, he didn't know, but he couldn't break free.

Dennis turned round to crack a joke and Dudley zeroed in on his friend's fingers. To him, they resembled chicken strips and he was so bloody hungry, he'd eat anything. Dudley felt like he was going to die, _(Dementoids in the alley),_ and the thoughts in his head, not at all rational, told him to take the food _now_ or he'd drop dead.

Lurching forwards, Dudley bent his head low and grabbed at Dennis's left hand, tongue darting out to lick the fingers. Thinking that the chicken tasted extra salty than usual, Dudley tried to bite into the chicken, not realising he was trying to chomp down on his friend's fingers.

Only when he was pushed away, Dennis cradling his left hand to his chest in utter confusion, did Dudley straighten up and rub his eyes. The hallucination broke and the five of them were standing on the pavement, the welcoming smell of the chippy wafting down the street. Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon all stared at him, unable to believe what they had witnessed. Piers stared at Dudley in shock, stunned to even utter a word.

Dudley stuttered, an apology stuck in his throat. _How the fuck was he going to explain this?! What the fuck was he thinking?!_

"What the fuck, Dudley?! Why you trying to bite my hand off? Are you a cannibal or something?!"

"That's messed up! Jesus, knew you'd cut out a lot of food, but didn't think you were desperate enough to try and bite your fucking friend! If that's a joke, you took it way too far!"

"You're a psycho, Dursley! Bloody freak, mate! _What is wrong with you?!"_

They were all livid and Dudley's chest panged at the question aimed at him. He was not a freak, he'd be willing to shout that in Gordon's face, but couldn't say anything. He'd frozen, like he had in the shack, like he had when the fireplace at home had exploded and hundreds upon hundreds of redheaded specimen had tumbled out, and down the alleyway, when an invisible being threatened to suffocate him not so long ago.

The voice must have done something to him, messed his mind right up to make him hallucinate like that. First, he was a serial killer, now a cannibal?! _What was next?!_

"Do you need to see someone, Dudley?"

The calm and rational voice of Piers spoke up and Dudley turned his attention to him, rage boiling up at how mild-mannered his best friend was. He had just tried to bite his friend's hand off and Piers was acting as if he'd asked what the bloody weather was!

"You been sleeping alright? Cause you said you're hungry and if you haven't been sleeping, maybe it's a reaction-"

" _Shut up."_ Dudley snapped, surprised he had enough power in his vocal cords to retort. "I'm not messed up. I didn't want to eat you, Dennis, I don't know what happened." His voice hitched. "I'm not crazy, I'm not! This better not get out, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll come and bash your brains in."

He backed away, shaking his head. "I was right. Yesterday and today have shown me how shitty you lot are as friends. I don't need you. You need me more than I need you. You're probably making me worse! Nah, don't contact me, don't come near me. You spread shit about me, I'll come after you."

"D-"

"Don't _'D'_ , me! I ain't your friend no more, Piers! You're all calling me crazy and I ain't having it!"

"I didn't-"

"YOU'RE THINKING IT! FUCK OFF!"

Dudley, as he was apt at doing, stormed away from the situation, utterly bewildered by the evening's events. As he walked further and further away, home nearly in sight, he was oblivious to the twitching of curtains from a specific house on the block.

Mark Evans watched Dudley Dursley stomp down the street. He had heard a raised voice from the outside streets, the open window letting in the cool air providing an opportunity to hear the racket from outside. It seemed as if Dudley had fallen out with his friends and watching the broad figure disappear from view, Mark wondered what was going on with Dudley, remorse for his bully and tormentor blossoming as Mark shut the window and settled down on his sofa, deep in thought.


	24. Chapter 24

**As usual, bold and italics for dreams and there's five in this chapter! Contains bits of dialogue and scenes from the books/films, that have changes to them as they are being controlled by Voldemort. The blacks X's represent changes between reality and dreams.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR**

The last week of summer holidays were a literal nightmare for Dudley. He had no contact with any of his former friends, avoiding them whenever he ventured out into daylight and staying away from his usual haunts. His energy levels were far lower than they usually were and there were some points throughout the day, where he could barely keep his eyes open. A mixture of hormones, lack of sleep, not enough nutrients or calories and stages of puberty made Dudley feel lethargic, to the point of lying down every few minutes, unable to move around too much. Over the last few days, his face had been prone to breakouts of spots, which he desperately smothered in spot cream to make them disappear. Although his time spent outside had been limited, he didn't want to be seen with bloody spots all over his face! He might be a teenager so more prone to spots, but he wasn't some fucking loser who spent all day inside playing video games with his hand down his trousers! _They_ were the ones who had spots all over their faces! Video games and hands down his trousers were common for him, but he had a life! _He was Big D, he needed to look good!_

Dudley had tried to pick one, but Mum had caught him and battered his hands away gently, saying:

"Duddy, don't pick your spots. They'll leave a scar, dear."

He nodded, waiting for Mum to walk away before pinching one of the spots with his large fingers, eyes crossed in effort to squeeze it.

The times he managed to drag himself out of the house he spent at the gym, amusing himself by sniggering under his breath at all of the gangly weaklings bearing no muscles, struggling to lift the smallest of weights whilst he bench pressed 225kg on the other side of the room.

However, one demographic of the gym he would neither mock nor laugh at were the large people, there to lose weight for various reasons. He had once been in their position a little over a year ago, trapped at a dangerous weight both needing and wanting to lose the fat to maintain a healthy life and to _not die._ To laugh at them would have been hypocritical.

The food he consumed consisted of simple salads, but they barely lined his stomach, so he decided to chomp through salad after salad each day, demanding his mother to make him more and more until the fridge was empty of all salad items and Petunia was forced to go and get more. Whilst she was out, Dudley found a bit of Dairy Milk chocolate tucked in a cupboard and ate the last remaining bars for a much-needed sugar rush, but only ten minutes later, his head was down the toilet and the chocolate was gone.

* * *

By the end of the week that was filled with five nightmares and dozens of portions of salads, Dudley was absolutely shattered, the bags under his eyes pronounced. The dark shadows were so severe it looked as if he were wearing exaggerated make-up, similar to one of those goths he sometimes saw lurking about in the seedy parts of London himself and Piers often visited. The places where if their mothers found out they'd been visiting, the two boys would be calling 999 for help with two heart attacks.

 _Piers._ Dudley raked his fingers through his limp greasy hair, closing his eyes momentarily. He had searched online the effects of sleep deprivation, annoyed at having spell-check flash up at him, but the results had caused his heart to palpitate wildly.

All the mental factors of sleep deprivation; _paranoia, delay in reactions, anxiety…_ They were hitting him hard. He discounted irritability and moodiness, because they were regular occurrences in his life already. The hallucinations were not linked to the sleep deprivation because they involved _freakishness._ Hallucinations were meant to scare you, but why would he hallucinate a specific voice in his head? _Was he really that messed up?_

The nightmares had become terrifying and each night he spent alone, fear progressively spiking, the feelings of being out of control eating away at him. Dudley shuddered. The nightmares had been difficult to get through without seeking out any help, whether it be from his loving albeit close-minded parents or a _'head doctor'_ as he liked to call them.

The first nightmare for the week had opened up his secret fear of discovering more about his ancestry. Magical blood tainted his family… _so how far back did it stem?_ That, he wanted to keep in darkness, so when he had closed his eyes that Monday night, Dudley didn't expect to dream about anything in relation to the blood that flowed through his veins.

 _ **XXX**_

 _ **Dudley was going off to Smeltings for the first time ever in a matter of weeks and excitement was an understatement. Dad had bragged about the school, how excellent it was in teaching young boys how to quickly become men and to wear your dignity with pride. It was traditional and 'each young chap who attends there goes on to have a very successful life. You're following in not only my footsteps, Dudders, but my father's. Three generations of Dursley men attending the same fine institute. If my father were still alive today, he would be very proud indeed.'**_

 _ **To top it all off, his best friend from primary school, Piers, was also attending Smeltings and Dudley hoped they would be staying in the same dormitory together, an added bonus would be sharing classes. Only a slight worry about living away from home for several months of the year plagued him. He wasn't worried about making new friends, as at primary school, he had been the most popular boy there. Everyone clamoured to be his friend, mostly out of fear of becoming a target if not on good terms, but now he was going to secondary school, he would have to build up his reputation all over again. And that would be an easy task.**_

 _ **Dudley sat down for breakfast, dressed in his new uniform to show off to his cousin how prestigious he was, ignoring the sound of the letterbox flapping. Dad asked him to get the post, but Mummy was serving up bread, bacon and eggs and he didn't want to leave the table in case Dad decided to steal a bit of his breakfast whilst he was gone.**_

" _ **Make Harry get it." He mumbled, eyes lighting up upon seeing the breakfast presented before him.**_

 _ **Dad sent Harry to get the post and when the boy came back into the kitchen, eyes glued to the letters he clutched in his hands, Dudley averted his own eyes away from his sizzling bacon and moved out of his seat, snatching the letters away from Harry.**_

" _ **Hey!"**_

 _ **He ignored his cousin's outraged cry and shuffled through the letters, dropping the ones intended for his parents, two envelopes left in his hands. One was addressed to Harry, (which was what he must have been staring at) and the other was to him. Dudley discarded Harry's onto the floor, lips quirking as Harry ducked down to grab it before it was trodden on. He read the cursive writing on the front of the envelope, 'MR D DURSLEY, The Largest Bedroom, Drive, Little Whinging, SURREY' with curiosity. Dudley turned the envelope over to inspect the back, burgundy seal and crest intriguing him. What company did the crest represent? He was sure that Grunnings hadn't changed their logo recently and wondered who was writing to him. Perhaps it was a late birthday card, stacked full of cash, from a distant relative?**_

 _ **Dudley ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter, surprised there was no card wadded with cash. He searched the envelope for any sign of money, but no cash was found, disappointing him. Dudley read through the letter and promptly burst out laughing. Now he was eleven years old, he was old enough to not believe in fantasy theories, such as the Tooth Fairy and Father Christmas, so in his mind, it was a prank from one of his friends.**_

" _ **What's so funny, Son?"**_

 _ **Dudley waved the letter in the air. "Piers sent me this as a joke. Says I've been accepted into a school of magic. Hah! As if! Harry's got one too, but we all know he's going to Stonewall."**_

 _ **In all his life, Dudley had never seen his Dad swell up in anger as quickly as he did moments after his comments. Veins bulged in his forehead and temples, skin colouring to purple and large fists threatening to bang the table. Harry retreated to the furthest corner of the room, believing that Vernon was mad at him for receiving an unexpected letter, but when Uncle Vernon turned to glare at his own son, Harry gaped.**_

 _ **Vernon slammed his fists down onto the table, hollering: "Petunia! We need to talk!"**_

 _ **From the hallway, where she had been after Harry to dust down the mirror by the door, Petunia bustled into the living room. "What is it, Vernon? Is it the boy?"**_

" _ **It's**_ **our** _ **boy. He's got one of those letters."**_

" _ **Letter?" Petunia stopped in her tracks by the table, face paling. "F-From them?"**_

" _ **Yes. Our son is a freak." Vernon's moustache wobbled and he growled. "You promised me he'd be normal. We're normal, so why isn't he?"**_

" _ **I-I…" Petunia stuttered, heat flushing up the nape of her neck. "It's not p-possible.**_ **He** _ **promised me h-he wouldn't be affected… that he would be n-normal…"**_

" _ **He is mine, isn't he? If I found out that you were unfaithful, Pet, and the boy's not mine-"**_

" _ **Don't be stupid!" Petunia snapped. "Of course he's yours!"**_

 _ **Dudley had found amongst all of the sudden arguing, he had lost his appetite. Firstly, they weren't aiming any of this talk towards Harry, but at him. They never told him off, so what had changed? He was sure Dad was his actual Dad, they looked so alike! It seemed as if they were taking Piers's joke seriously and Dudley let out a chuckle. They were both stressing for no reason!**_

" _ **Mum, Dad, it's a prank. I'm not going to a school for magic. I'm going to Smeltings."**_

 _ **His Mum looked at him with sympathy, which made his smile falter slightly. "Oh sweetie, it's not as simple as that. You won't be g-going to Smeltings anymore."**_

" _ **W-What? Why not?!"**_

" _ **Because you have m…magic now, even though we haven't experienced any symptoms that your mother's sister had and they vowed to make sure you were normal, so now, you've got to go this school. Because if not, they'll take you anyway." Dad bristled.**_

 _ **Disappointment and anger radiated off his parents and Dudley twisted his face into one of confusion. "M-Magic? I don't understand…"**_

" _ **You're full of m-magic, Dudley, so they'll whisk you off to that school and we'll never see you again."**_

" _ **W-What?!" He was beginning to panic now, the letter looking less and less like a joke and more a sick bombshell to divide their tight-knit family.**_

 _ **Vernon looked at his son and for the first time ever, did not feel utter love for his child.**_

" _ **You're a freak. And we don't want freaks in our family. Both of you will go to the freak school, come back for summer, but Dudley, you're not our son anymore. You're one of them now. A freak."**_

 _ **The word rebounded in his head and he felt as if he were drowning in a whirlpool, unable to find a way out of this hellish situation. Standing to his feet, Dudley's eyes welled up with tears and before he could start blubbering in front of everyone, he fled up the stairs and threw himself onto his bed, crying hysterically into the pillow.**_

 _ **Being a freak meant rejection and Dudley felt sadder than he ever had in his entire life. He was a freak, nothing more.**_

 _ **XXX**_

Bolting awake from that dream, Dudley had double checked the interior of his room, breathing out a sigh of relief upon viewing his freshly ironed school uniform hanging up on the back of the bedroom door. He could make out the bright colours of his school wear and the Smeltings crest in the light that seeped out from the landing. Relieved that he truly was not a freak, Dudley threw himself backwards, groaning when the top of his head bashed the bedframe.

"Wonder what's in store for me tomorrow night." He grumbled, already dreading Tuesday's night sleep.

 _ **XXX**_

 **He awoke slouched against an oak tree, pitched in the middle of the deep dark woods. They were akin to one out of a horror film, where the serial killer chased their young victim into the dense woodland and butchered them, their screams unheard by the surrounding neighbourhood. Dudley was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and black patterned shorts, black plimsolls (the kind he used to wear for PE in primary school) squashing his feet. He hugged himself, rubbing his bare arms to try and warm himself up. His shoes crunched onto fresh smatterings of pure white snow and in that moment, he wished for a big parka coat to bury himself in.**

 **Dudley delved his hand into his short's pockets, but he had nothing on him and no watch to work out the time, but he guessed it was late, judging from the dark sky. Also in the sky, was an image he had seen before. The snake slithering out of the skull was broadcast across the night sky and he flattened himself against the tree, terror pounding at him.**

 **The snake in the skull meant bad things and as soon as heard the high pitched cackling, all became clear.**

 **Shouts and bright lights zoomed in the clearing nearby and Dudley turned his head towards the commotion. There was a large group of people, ones in robes and silver masks clutching those dreaded sticks. At the forefront of the group, were two people. A crazy-looking woman who couldn't stay still and a beast of a man who looked fucking feral. Dudley didn't want to confront them, so with an embarrassing squeak, twisted his weight around and shot forwards.**

 **Instantly, they were alerted to his presence and soon enough, were on his heels. He sprinted forwards, nimbly dodging tree roots and stray branches, the leaves dancing in his breezy wake. Shots of green flew by him, caressing his hair and ears, so he put his head down and sped up, needing to find a way out.**

 **Voices shouted after him, yells of: "MUGGLE!", "FILTH!" and "DIE!" swarming him. Dudley tried to not listen to his pursuers, because if they thought he was just going to stop running and wait for his death with open arms,** _ **then they had another thing coming!**_

 **He ran and ran, stitch blossoming in his side. The environment was all the same, a mass of trees, leaves and entrapment. For him, the chances of escape were shrinking second by second. Dudley's breath caught in his throat as a red light hit him directly in the middle of the back. He tripped over his own feet, face slamming into the rough ground. Attempting to move his body only resulted in his white shirt staining with dirt and mud and he froze when a heavy boot landed on his back.**

 **The voices became distorted, but one who spoke out the order that numbed him to the core was crystal clear.**

" **Kill him."**

 **Neck straining to twist round to witness the owner of the voice, Dudley only saw black robes before he was struck with another light, this one green, and his head dropped to the floor, light fading quickly from his eyes. His blue eyes that stared out into the darkness of the forest, a young soul now destined to wander the forest forever in hopes of escaping, but eternally bound to his place of demise.**

 **XXX**

He had struggled to wake up, the blood gushing in his veins, a subconscious reminder to his brain that he was still alive. Dudley managed to get his eyelids to flutter open, before slamming a hand onto the left side of his chest, ears straining to hear the heartbeat. It was rapid and close to exploding out of his chest, but it was there, _beating,_ and he was alive!

Dudley scoped his bedroom out afterwards, checking twice under the bed to confirm that nobody was hiding under there ready to pounce, before rubbing his eyes in frustration. Guess it was time to call it quits on sleeping and boot up his computer, his trepidation for tomorrow night's potential nightmare already stirring his gut into pieces.

 _ **XXX**_

 _ **The first inkling that he had dramatically aged was the stiff movement of his limbs. His knees groaned in protest as he straightened them and his upper back stooped over, his feet shuffling along slowly. His surroundings seemed to be one of a small shack and as he tucked his feet into a pair of old leather slippers, Dudley caught sight of himself in the mirror. Grey replaced the blond hair, deep wrinkles lined his face, eyes swimming in an ocean of grief. His weathered hands fumbled with the buttons of his satin pyjamas, closing the top button to keep the cold off of his chest. Dudley grabbed the walking stick beside the double bed and supporting his weight onto it, moved forwards into the small messy kitchen.**_

 _ **His childhood habits of not clearing away things he had used in the kitchen had evidently lived on, but surely he couldn't be this old already? What had happened to the period of his life between his age now and when he was fifteen years old? Maybe this was another sick joke, that turned out not to be a joke, but the truth and it was being thrown in his face.**_

 _ **Dudley glanced at the calendar pinned to the wall and in that sinking feeling, he realised he was actually eighty six years old. The year was 2066, the month November. Dudley was alone, frail and confused. To uncover the mystery of why he was by himself in a small shack at the age of eighty six, he would need to discover what had happened during the missing period of his life, one that spanned over seventy years.**_

 _ **The door to his right abruptly slammed open and Dudley welcomed the intruder with an unenthusiastic snarl. It was Mark Evans, face still resembling that of a ten year old, not having changed one bit considering the year they found themselves in, he was meant to be approaching eighty.**_

" _ **I can show you what happened, dear boy."**_

 _ **That bloody voice was coming out of his mouth again! Dudley shook his head.**_

" _ **I'm done with this. L-Leave me alone."**_

 _ **Evans smiled in return and clicked his fingers, a Pensieve appearing. As Dudley surveyed the 'well' with apprehension, Evans beckoned him closer.**_

" _ **Take a look and all will be revealed."**_

 _ **Realistically, he should have thrown Evans out of the house and gone back to bed, but Dudley was tempted to find out what had happened in the timeline of his adult life and gave in to his urges. Stepping up to the Pensieve, he took a deep breath before putting his face up to the glowing blue light and staring down the well. He promptly tipped forwards, screaming as gravity fell away and he flailed through the air, impact of death almost certain.**_

 _ **He landed in a heap on a battleground, thankfully alive and not injured, only to see a fifteen year old Harry Potter fighting against the monster, the no-nosed freak. Lights shot from their sticks and the red and green conjoined together, the stream of light twisting and convulsing as both Potter and No-Nose fought to beat the other. Dudley sat in silence, eyes widening as the stream of light dispersed and his cousin crumpled to the ground, lifeless.**_

" _ **What the-"**_

 _ **Scenes flashed by his very eyes. Harry's corpse disposed of by burning him to charred ruins in front of a screaming crowd. No-Nose proclaiming himself the ruler of the world. Then Dudley watched as the world itself fell to shit. Streets filled to the brim of freakishness were blown apart, freaks parading around in their robes and big hats were blown apart and 'Muggles' were turned into slaves, one assigned to each freak who was devoted to No-Nose's regime. Dudley saw his parents captured by freaks in robes, heard on the news how they had been killed and witnessed people who were Harry's friends smuggle**_ **him** _ **into hiding, where he resided in the very same shack he'd woken up in for years upon years, protected within the four walls.**_

 _ **All by himself in the shack… a part of Dudley reckoned it wasn't worth living that life. In fact, in that world, there was no point of living at all.**_

 _ **He was tossed out of flashbacks and landed in a heap once again, this time in front of Evans, who booted him hard in the chest, crooning:**_

" _ **End of the line, old man."**_

 _ **The kick to the chest caused his heart to falter and Dudley lay flat on his back, heart failing to pump blood around his body. He stared up at the ceiling, before his vision was clouded by the sight of the boot that crunched down onto his skull.**_

 _ **XXX**_

Hands patting his face and head to ensure he was still all there and not a bloody pulp, Dudley shook under his covers, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. As the days passed by, the night terrors had worsened and he wiped away the tears that trickled down his cheeks. Dudley whispered to himself:

"I can't have another one. Please tomorrow, give me a break. I can't do it again."

 _ **XXX**_

 _ **As soon as he had shut his eyes, he opened them again, only to find himself at the zoo. His eleven year old self reflected back at him, as he stared at the Boa Constrictor asleep on the log. The instinct to bang on the glass fuelled him and he slammed his large fist onto the glass, shouting:**_

" _ **MOVE!"**_

" _ **Stop scaring it."**_

 _ **Great, Harry was now beside him. Dudley wished he could go away. He was ruining his special day! He shoved Harry onto the floor, missing Harry's narrowing of the eyes as he put his hands back onto the glass. Dudley went to bang his fist again when the glass disappeared and he threatened to tumble into the water below. He screamed, pitching forwards, but before Harry could leap to his feet and try to save him, the snake reared itself up and struck forwards.**_

 _ **Dudley felt the sting on his right wrist and flopped into the water, screaming in sheer agony. He was completely soaked and blood dripped from the bite like saliva dripped from a dog's mouth. He crawled up onto all fours, turning round to stare at the suddenly-replaced glass, to stare at his cousin's horrified face.**_

" _ **GET ME OUT! NOW!"**_

 _ **The snake was out of his eye-line so when it struck again, this time for his face, he was not at all prepared.**_

 _ **Darkness exploded across his vision and when he blinked it away, he was no longer in the zoo, but in the shack in the middle of the sea. That horrible giant was there, chatting shit to Potter and his parents were arguing against the giant, Dad holding his bent shotgun. The birthday cake was on the table and he inched closer, blond curls tucked behind his ears before he dug his hands into the cake. Crumbs tumbled down his striped top and icing smeared across his mouth, but the cake was bloody delicious! Tuning out the conversations around him, Dudley shovelled the cake into his mouth, unaware of the umbrella aimed at him until the moment he was shot in the arse. The stitching of his bottoms split open, the pig's tail shooting out.**_

 _ **Dudley dropped the slabs of cake into the box, dirty hands splayed out as he snapped his neck round to look behind him. He screamed, humiliation hitting him. He had a bloody pig's tail! WHAT THE HELL WAS HE GOING TO DO?!**_

 _ **Mum and Dad started screaming and Dudley raised his head up to stare at his mother, who was crying at the sight of the tail.**_

" _ **Mum-"**_

 _ **The transformation happened in a matter of thirty seconds. First his hands turned pink, fingers joining together to form hooves. His nose shrunk and widened to a snout, pointed ears spouting out the top of his head. All of his skin pinkened and before he could realise the horrors of the body alterations, Dudley was one hundred percent pig. He opened his mouth, prepared to beg Mum and Dad for help, but all that came out were dozens of 'oinks' and the shock, alongside the laughter of Potter and the oaf who had transformed him, sent him crazy. His parents came forward to attempt to console him, the shock sending his father's hair white, but Dudley was all ready to end this nightmare.**_

 _ **He shot forwards, aiming for the fireplace and threw himself in. The fire licked at his pyjamas and he screeched in agony. He was literally a barnyard animal brought to the slaughter. His parents wailed, collapsing to the ground whilst Dudley shut his eyes and awaited death.**_

 _ **XXX**_

When he snapped his eyes open, Dudley clapped a hand over his mouth, rolling out of bed and hurrying towards his door. His spare hand fiddled with the lock, bolt undrawing, opening up access to the door. He pulled the door open and shot onto the landing, racing towards the bathroom.

After he had been sick, he sat on his heels and hyperventilated, panic rising in his chest. Anxiety he had never suffered from and panic attacks were not on his radar, but this overwhelming state he found himself in, was pretty much the closest he had ever felt to being out of control. His memories of dealing with freakishness when he was younger had come back to haunt him, but now they were even more disturbing.

' _That dream was so messed up. I'm never eating pork or bacon or ham again. Fuck that… I'm never going to a farm again or look at a ruddy pig either. God, this is so bloody weird!'_

He couldn't believe that the terrors could get any worse, but the fifth one became all too personal for him and ended up breaking his heart.

 _ **XXX**_

 _ **Dudley awakened in his home, seated in his Dad's armchair. Two people sat on the sofa next to him. They were not familiar, but he felt strong feelings towards them. Dudley analysed the woman; grey hair, pale blue eyes, flowery dress reminding him of his Mum. The man; flicks of red through grey hair, hazel eyes and a three piece suit. Warm smiles decorated both of their faces.**_

" _ **You must be Dudley."**_

 _ **The voice conflicted with the smile. It was cold and sounded cruel. Dudley kept his face impassive, not sure how to react. This old couple were mysterious and he didn't want to cause conflict.**_

" _ **Yeah."**_

 _ **The smile dropped. "You're our daughter's son."**_

 _ **Daughter's son. Dudley's eyes widened. "Holy hell, you're my grandparents? Nanny and Grandad Evans?"**_

" _ **That's us, boy. We never met you, did we?"**_

" _ **Dunno." Dudley shrugged his shoulders, relaxing now he was face to face with family members. "If we did, I was too young to remember."**_

 _ **Grandad Evans shook his head. "We wouldn't have wanted to meet you anyway."**_

 **Now that hurt.** _ **Bullet to the heart, drop dead kind of hurt. Dudley's jaw dropped and he sputtered: "W-What? W-Why not?"**_

 _ **Nanny Evans tutted. "We loved Petunia, but didn't approve of her husband of choice. Lily was always our favourite and when she got together with James, it was a perfect match. Then they had Harry and wasn't he lovely? Beautiful and talented. They said his magical ability was off the scale."**_

" _ **You didn't like my D-Dad?"**_

" _ **No." Grandad Evans glared at his grandson. "When Petunia had you, we were happy initially, but after we passed and started to watch down on our family, you began to walk and talk and you were a bloody spoilt brat. Petunia hasn't mothered you properly and now you have grown into a thug. A worthless human being."**_

 _ **Dudley sat back, stunned, heart shattering into pieces at the words of his dead grandparents who he had never met and only seen photographs of them once when he was young.**_

 _ **Together, his grandparents chanted: "We always favoured Harry over you. He is our favourite grandchild. You are not worthy of being our grandchild. We are ashamed of you."**_

 _ **Eyes brimming with tears, Dudley trembled, struggling to come up with a comeback. How dare they talk to him like that! They were fucking dead! They couldn't say anything!"**_

" _ **I-I… Y-You…"**_

" _ **You are nothing, Dudley. Accept it."**_

 _ **He shook his head furiously, hollering: "NO! SHUT UP! YOU STUPID IDIOTS! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!"**_

 _ **They vanished in the blink of an eye and left Dudley all alone, sobbing to himself quietly, hands coming up to cover his face and hide his shame.**_

 _ **XXX**_

The hatred he had experienced for his grandparents in his nightmare stayed within him when he woke up and he carried the hate around as a grudge. The next morning, he was grumpy, eating salad after salad in front of the television and trying to block out the events of the last week.

Paranoia pounded at his mind and he wanted to tear his hair out to the point where he would have none left. Fortunately that evening, he slept peacefully with no nightmares albeit only for four hours for fear of falling into another terror.

Throughout the past week, the long stays in his bedroom involved a locked door, windows tightly sealed shut, afraid for his own safety. If freakishness was in play here, then he needed to be prepared. He had his fists to attack with, but as defence, what did he have? The only barricade between himself and the freaks he could rely on was the door, so the door was locked behind him every time he settled down in his room and stayed locked until he was out of the room.

The penultimate evening before he went back to school, was spent curled up under the covers, afraid of another nightmare but he was allowed to rest and when he woke up, it was the first time in a while, he actually felt refreshed. Dudley knew he wouldn't feel refreshed for long, but at that moment lying in his bed, his worries fell away and he could relax.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Dudley got out of bed and went into the shower, slowly getting dressed into branded clothes and slipping on his second most expensive pair of trainers. If he got them dirty, Mum could clean them. She was a good hand at cleaning. He skipped breakfast, heading straight out, alert for any sightings of his former friends. He avoided any cafes that would be open before mid-day, not wanting to smell any greasy food that would remind him of the encounter with Dennis, where he nearly tore his hand off with his teeth.

Dudley craved fresh air after the stuffiness of his house, but another reason was to hunt down Evans. He considered himself brave for tracking him down, after all the appearances in his nightmares and his petrifying experiences with the kid in reality, where Dudley always walked away looking like a fucking loon, but he needed to settle his mind before going back to school.

He hovered near the kid's house, satisfied when Evans came out of his house on his scooter, fancying a ride round the block. Waiting for Evans to round the corner, Dudley dashed over and stepped in front of Evans, hissing as the front wheel of the scooter knocked against his ankle.

Evans jumped off his scooter and backed up, hoping that Dudley was okay after the incident last week involving the bust-up of his gang and that he was not going to start ranting and raving.

"Listen, you know school's starting soon. I swear if I see you at Smeltings, I'll beat you up. Yeah, yeah, you'll come after me when I'm asleep, you or that monster, but I don't care anymore. You need to lay off."

Mark, still unsure about the whole nightmare situation and the role he played in them, put his hands up and shook his head.

"I'm not going to S-Smeltings. I'm going to Stonewall, s-so you'll only see me when you come back home."

"Promise?" The sigh of relief surprised Mark, but he had to admit to himself he was looking forward to not seeing Dudley for most of the upcoming year.

"Yeah. I'm going to Stonewall, got my uniform and everything."

"Good." Dudley's face hardened once again and he nodded. "Stay out my way." He turned round and strode off, relief flooding him.


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE**

The day he had been dreading arrived and Dudley lay in bed, hunkered down under the covers, wanting to stay in bed all day. He'd rather fall asleep, vulnerable to the nightmares that plagued him, than get up and get ready for school. To be surrounded by Piers and the other boys in his year, losing his sanity over his sleep, was too humiliating. He would fail his GCSE's, no energy conserved within to pull him through and no doubt, he would soon end up locked away in a mental asylum, chewing on the straps of a straightjacket in resemblance of a starving rat.

There was a knock on his door and Dudley groaned, pulling the covers up high over his head, wishing to be left alone. The knocks persisted, Mum's voice sweetly calling out.

"Duddy? It's time to get up, darling. We've got two hours until we leave, so we need to start getting ready."

Rolling his eyes under the covers, Dudley thought: _'Why is she always such in a rush? Every time we go somewhere, she makes us get ready so early that we end up sitting round waiting for another hour until we actually get going… God sake, can she stop knocking?! My head is fucking pounding!'_

The knocking upped a tempo and Dudley was now ready to bolt out of bed, covers flying off and unlock the door and tear it open to confront his mother in one wild action. Instead, he remained lying down, wriggling his head out so he was above the covers.

"Alright, Mum! Gimme a minute!"

The barrage on his door finally stopped, Dudley releasing a tense breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. Two hours left and then for another three months of the year, up until the Christmas holidays, he would be gone from Surrey. His lack of presence would be noticed, but for all of the positive reasons. Neighbours would breathe a sigh of relief that the menace residing at number four would finally be gone and the name that sprang to mind would not be Harry Potter. The children of Little Whinging could play out in the streets safely, without fear of a beating from their tormentor. It was a win-win for everyone outside of number four.

He rolled out of bed, moving round to stand in front of his mirror. He rubbed his eyes, massaging the skin around the corner of his eyelids and rumbled to himself: "I'm too tired for this." Unlocking the door, opening it and stepping out onto the landing, Dudley took the stairs one at a time, trying to wake up fully before he put his feet onto the ground floor. He was truly knackered and simply wanted to go back to bed, to curl up under the covers and blast Tupac so loud that the walls would shake. Mum would end up covering her ears whenever she heard any _'expletives'_ and Dad would groan at him, (one of the seldom times he ever did) about the _'trash'_ he listened to.

He entered the kitchen and slumped into a chair, tossing his head back and forth as his Mum tried to serve him a breakfast of buttered toast smeared with jam.

"No. It's too unhealthy. Give me rye bread." He'd tried rye bread once, when he first started his diet, (it had been one of the suggestions from the school nurse), and it had been _utterly vile._ However, now he felt pressured to get the healthiest option available, regardless of the taste.

Petunia looked put-out at having one of her infamous breakfasts rejected. She pulled the plate back towards herself and said: "We don't have rye bread."

"Anything healthy? Like as in bread?"

"We have brown."

"That'll do." Dudley looked up from under his eyelids. "I don't want no butter. No jam. Nothing."

"Plain brown bread? Duddy, you need something else to go on it. How about peanut butter on it? You love peanut butter on toast."

"Yeah, when I was five." He snarked under his breath, before bringing his head up fully. "Just brown bread, Mum. Toasted."

"Of course, sweetheart." Petunia walked back over to the counter, rejected plate in hand and confusion swelling within her. Dudley hated rye bread, with a passion, _but now he was requesting it for breakfast?_ She reckoned that he was cutting out carbohydrates in order to be more fit and have more energy for his upcoming boxing matches. _So why hadn't he told either her or Vernon?_ "Maybe it's a teenage thing." She murmured under her breath.

Petunia pulled out a loaf of brown bread and put two slices into the toaster, swivelling her head round when she heard a thump. Dudley had let his head drop forwards onto the table, arms curled up around his head.

"Duddy? Are you okay? You didn't hurt your head, did you?"

"No. I'm tired, Mum. S'all. Don't let the bread burn. I don't like my toast charred."

"I know." She said softly. "You like it golden brown with the butter melting."

Dudley raised his head and turned round in the chair, mustering up a small smile. "Yeah. Check the toaster."

After he had consumed the toast, Dudley trudged upstairs to finish off his packing. He shoved his unpacked belongings into his travel bag, then double checked that his door was locked. Under his mattress was an unopened pack of Marlboros and his fingers itched to hold one in his hand. The lighter was currently stuffed down the back of one of his drawers, to stop his parents from easily finding it, particularly his mother whenever she did a bit of spontaneous spring cleaning.

Dudley lifted the mattress up, a thought drifting into his mind of how a year and a half ago he would have been panting and out of breath upon lifting the mattress, flabby arms struggling to hold up something so heavy for a long period of time. He bent down, swiping the pack before straightening up and letting the mattress clang back into position. He shoved the pack into the pocket of his leather jacket before grabbing his towel and heading to the bathroom. Dudley turned on the shower, letting the water gush over his fingers, the temperature icing them to first stage of frostbite.

When the water was freezing cold, Dudley stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting his chin drop forwards onto his chest. His hair plastered to the back of his head and upper neck as he inhaled shallow breaths, the water pouring over every inch of his body. His wet lashes fanned down onto his skin. Peace under a stream of freezing cold water. He knew it wouldn't last long, but for now, _it would calm his frazzled nerves._

His blood pumped within his veins, goose bumps dotting all over his arms and legs, a subtle reminder from his mind that it was too damn cold. Mum's voice snapped in his mind that surely he would get a chill afterwards, but Dudley blocked everything out. Enclosed the shower may be with the doors snapped shut but he didn't feel trapped. _Yet._

Dudley lurched his head out of the stream and scraped his hair upwards, tearing open his eyes and ignoring the sting that greeted his irises. He bent his knees and picked up his body lotion, opening the cap and squirting a fair amount onto the sponge he took off of the shower dial. After a quick wash, Dudley rinsed off the lotion and turned the shower off, shuddering slightly at the steam that clouded the room and wafted into the shower as he pulled open the doors. He couldn't see anything and abruptly panicked that if the bald man with no nose who haunted his nightmares was standing _right there,_ he would see _all_ of him. Dudley groped for his towel lying on the bathroom floor and wrapped it round his waist, moving over to the window and shunting it open to let the steam filter out into the fresh air.

Fortunately, the bathroom was devoid of any freaks. Dudley sighed in relief, leaving the bathroom and padding across the landing to his bedroom, gently kicking his bedroom door shut behind him, his hand coming up to fiddle with the lock.

* * *

Straw boater lopsided on his head, Dudley looked down at his uniform with a grimace. Once, he had enjoyed wearing his uniform, proud of the school colours that upon reflection, were ugly as sin and made him look like a giant mothball. His knickerbockers were baggy, (as he had requested them because baggy bottoms were in fashion), but the painful memory of trying them on thirteen months ago when visiting the school shop that held his uniform, and having the biggest size available split at the seams as soon as he had hitched them up enough to sit under his bulging belly still hurt him. It had been so humiliating, a kick-start to creating his now intense fitness regime and reserving enough willpower within him to stick to his strict diet plan.

His black school shoes were so sparkling clean that you could see your own reflection within them. Under his school jumper lay one of his thin loose gold chains. Smeltings was strict on accessories and jewellery, only a watch was allowed and Dudley had no problem in showing off his Casio to anyone who was interested.

His Smeltings stick lay on top of his bed and a gleeful smile came to his face when he thought about all of the upcoming first years he could whack in the shins with his stick as they hurried past him in the corridor. Dudley fished his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and his lighter from the drawer and tucked them inside his maroon tailcoat.

He flew down the stairs, nerves bundling inside his stomach. "Mum! I'm going out for some fresh air, I'll be back soon!" He rushed out of the house before he could hear a reply, jogging out of his street and towards one of the alleyways he and his gang used to loiter in, before he isolated himself from them. Dudley placed himself in the middle of the alleyway, leaning against the wall and staring at the fencing opposite him, the leaves from the trees poking out of the various holes.

Dudley pulled out the pack, flipping open the top and drew out a cigarette. He put away the pack and pulled out the lighter, finger clicking down to slide the top back and let the flame spark to life. He met the end of the fag with the flame and once it was lit, he let the flame die on the lighter and stuffed it back into his tailcoat. Dudley slid the cigarette between his lips, fingers pinching the fag and inhaled. The rush of nicotine helped him greatly and he exhaled slowly through his nostrils, satisfaction enveloping him. This was what he needed and he continued to smoke the cigarette until the ash had burned down to the very tip and he was forced to chuck the stub onto the ground and grind it out with the bottom of his shoe. He ended up smoking six more cigarettes, feeling a buzz of enjoyment tingle through him. It was only when he ground out the seventh cigarette and glanced at his watch that he swore, realising he only had twenty minutes until they were due to leave for Smeltings.

Dudley sprinted back towards his house, having to stop half-way to hack up half his lungs from the smoke he had just inhaled, before continuing on, crashing into his house and giving his mother a fright.

"Oh, Dudley! You scared me!" Petunia put a hand to her chest. "We're going soon. Have you got everything packed?"

Her son nodded and bolted past her, up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door behind him. She watched him go, musing that he must have forgotten to pack something, not at all suspicious of what he had been doing outside to make him run so fast into the house.

Upstairs, Dudley exhaled a breath. Mum had caught him by surprise. He'd expected to come straight to his room upon entering the house and to get rid of the acrid smell that tinged his breath, but he had been forced to not speak to his Mum for fear of her suspecting that he had been smoking. Dudley hunted round for a mouth spray, one he used when chances of kissing were high or if he had been recently smoking before returning home, which would freshen his breath. He found the spray and opened his mouth wide, tongue jerking as two squirts exploded down his throat. Dudley tossed the spray into his open travel bag, then quickly sprayed himself top to toe with strongly scented cologne. He tossed that into the bag before dashing to the bathroom. Picking up the mouthwash, he unscrewed the cap and poured a minimal amount into the cap, transferring the liquid into his mouth. He washed his mouth out, spitting the liquid into the sink. _Liquid that was red._

Dudley blinked, cap clattering to the floor. His hands came to grip the sides of the sink, eyes zoned in on the plughole. The liquid seeped through the small gap down into the pipe and Dudley snapped his head up, lips peeled back to reveal his teeth. Perfect straight white teeth, no signs of blood stains on them. He stumbled away, plucking the cap off of the floor and screwing it back onto the mouthwash bottle. He returned to his bedroom, shaking off the bathroom incident, and shoved two sticks of mint chewing gum into his mouth. Dudley finishing off his last minute packing, double checking his bedroom and left with a sad smile for the start of his fifth year at secondary school.

* * *

Dudley sat in the back, behind his father, his mother diagonally opposite him. Her dazzling smile would encounter his gaze every few miles, seemingly obsessed with checking on him. That's how Dudley felt, to him, she was obsessing that he was perfectly alright and nothing had happened that she was unaware of. Apart from the smoking, girls, drinking, swearing and the all-round 'menacing' activities he and his former friends got up to, Dudley wanted to relay the image of his _'picture perfect'_ life and not let anything slip. If Mum and Dad knew he was insecure about his mental state of mind and his sanity, then they would only panic and make things worse. Plus, if the freak somehow gained knowledge that his parents realised about the dreams and hallucinations, then his nightmare of them being slaughtered would be replicated in reality.

And worse of all, the voice could make _him_ do it _. Make him kill his parents._

Dudley slumped in his seat, arms crossed over his seatbelt, head drooping down to his chest, eyelids half-lidded. His parents were chatting in the front, but his concentration levels were so low that the chatter went in one ear before swiftly going out the other. The words that did catch his attention however all seemed to be focussed on him. Ones such as _'Boxing Champion',_ _'so proud'_ , _'brightest pupil in the year'_ and _'couldn't ask for a better son'._ The cynical side of him was sickened by such lavish praise and in his mind, the voice coiled around those negatives thoughts and pushed for him to express that opinion out loud. To perhaps even fish out his Smeltings stick and bash both of them over the head.

He ended up nodding off, exhausted from the past few weeks and managed to get a ten minute nap, but was jerked awake when the car suddenly veered violently across the road, horns blaring in a mass of noise. Dudley sat straight up, instantly annoyed as he had been managing to get a peaceful sleep before his Dad's erratic driving had almost killed them. Rage shot through him and he lashed out with his foot, connecting with the driver seat, where his Dad was sitting. Regret was another seldom feeling that Dudley encountered, but kicking his Dad's seat was something he shouldn't have done and now he expected to receive a proper bollocking from him.

Seconds later, tense silence filling the car, Vernon pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder of the motorway and stopped the engine. He turned around in his seat and narrowed his eyes at his son, their first argument ever coming to a head.

"There was no need to kick my seat, Dudley. Not only did that hurt my back, but you could have caused me to get distracted and crash. Then we would have needed a new car and god knows what else could have happened!"

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. Dad was being so dramatic!

"Well, half the time I'm surprised we're not dead cause of your driving. You drive like a maniac, Dad, and I was having a good sleep when you couldn't keep the steering wheel in your control, so I woke up and kicked your seat."

Moustache bristling, Vernon's face puffed up, purpling. _"I did not lose control!"_

If he were to be honest, Dudley didn't want to argue about anything, as he was too tired and the situation was becoming too tense. So, after a fleeting look to his left, at his mother's pleading expression and teary eyes, he slumped back in defeat.

"Fine, sorry. I shouldn't have kicked your seat. You can carry on driving."

"Apology accepted. Right, we will get to Smeltings at some point today."

As Vernon carted back onto the motorway, Dudley's eyes widened in disbelief. He had actually apologised for once in his life… _and he didn't like it one bit._

The rest of the journey was uneventful and far too soon for his liking, the Dursleys were pulling up to Smeltings Academy For Boys, the massive driveway full of boys ranging from the ages of eleven to eighteen saying goodbye to their families. As their car came to a stop in one of the numerous parking spaces, situated a little way away from the main building, Dudley swallowed down the lump in his throat. As they had driven past everyone, he had caught sight of Piers with his parents, and fear struck him. How was he supposed to look the older boy in the eye when the guy had witnessed _Big D_ attempt to chomp Dennis's hand off?!

His hand coiled around the door, but before he could push it open, his mother's voice froze him to the seat.

"Duddy, I couldn't help but notice that your uniform smells of… smoke." Her voice quietened down, as it always did whenever she said a 'crass' word, and Dudley found his blood had run cold. Similar to how he felt when facing the Dementoids. They couldn't know that he smoked… _could they?!_ If they had figured out that he was a smoker, he was fucked!

"I-I think when I went for my walk earlier before we left, I w-walked past someone who was s-smoking. The smell must have caught onto my u-uniform."

"It's disgusting." His father's voice made his blood chill even more. Dad would metaphorically lose his head if he found out his son smoked. Dudley had never been spanked in his life and he sure as hell, didn't want to start being punished like that at the age of fifteen.

"Y-Yeah. I don't like the s-smell." Dudley lied through his teeth, wondering whether he should have sprayed more cologne on himself before getting in the car.

Petunia's nose wrinkled briefly, before she put on her best smile. "Well, lets get your bags out of the car, Duddykins. and see if we can find Piers. Then you two can go in together!"

He winced upon opening the car door. Mum was going to force him to find Piers and it was going to be so awkward trying to make conversation with him after everything that had happened! He wondered whether his best mate had informed his parents of what had gone down between the gang and if he had, what their reactions would have been to it. Most likely, _confused._ He let Dad hoist his big suitcase out of the car boot whilst he slung the strap of his travel bag over his shoulder and got his Mum to help settle his backpack onto his back. They locked up the car, then the three of them moved over to the front drive, mingling with the other families. Dudley spotted Piers' parents exchanging goodbyes with their son, so he lingered in front of his parents, blocking the view of his best friend and his respective parents, waiting until Mr and Mrs Polkiss had departed towards their car and Piers had started to head into the school when he could allow himself to be relaxed.

Dudley scanned the hundreds of faces, saying: "I don't see Piers. He might have already gone in. I'll catch up to him later on... So, I guess I'll see you at Christmas. I'll call you soon, promise."

He looked towards his Mum and immediately cringed. She was already tearing up and every year, she made it into a big spectacle. The older he got, the more embarrassed he was. The laughter aimed at him, some clear within earshot, ate away at him and he quickly pulled his mother into a tight hug to quieten her tears.

" _ **Such a good little boy you are for Mummy and Daddy. Always there for them. I wonder how they would feel hearing how their perfect little angel has fallen from grace by ingesting harmful substances and acting the fool."**_

His eyes narrowed and his face pulled into a scowl. That voice was haunting his every waking moment! The wicked side of him wanted to quip a witty comeback, but he remembered the agony shooting through his body as he writhed on the floor, the trauma of seeing people, _children,_ struck down with green light and no matter how good the comeback, Dudley couldn't face any more pain.

 _He wanted a fresh start._

Dudley pulled away from his mother, let his father pat him on the shoulder and took the suitcase given to him, wheeling it after him as he headed towards the main building. His parents shouted goodbyes after him, his face blushing bright red when his mother called out: "I love you, popkin! Call us soon!"

"God, I wish I could crawl in a hole and die."

" _ **That is wishful thinking. That can be arranged."**_

"Shut up." He sniped, entering the school and heading straight up to his dormitory. It was the same one he had been in for the last four years and the four-poster bed was comfortable, where he hoped he could escape from the nightmares and have a peaceful sleep. He avoided greeting anyone and gratefully didn't cross paths with Piers. Upon gaining access to his dormitory, that he shared with five other boys, Dudley hauled his suitcase onto his bed and let his travel bag and backpack drop onto the covers. He zipped open the suitcase, pulling out his pyjamas and washbag, the rest of his clothes neatly packed by his mother. On top of the bedside cabinet, stood a framed photograph of his parents posing in the living room that he kept there throughout the year. Above the headboard of his bed on the wall, was a signed poster of the current West Ham football team. Dudley shifted his bags to the end of the bed, flopping on top of the covers and pulling the curtains on both sides shut. Dudley lay his head back against the pillow and decided to rest his eyes.

* * *

He was woken up by the rest of the boys trooping into the room, but didn't pull back the covers until it was time for dinner. He said a simple 'hello' to everyone, but made no further conversation with any of them, sitting by himself in the dining hall. Per usual, the massive buffet table stationed at the front of the hall was filled with containers of food. Dudley grabbed his plate and waited in the queue, ignoring the rumblings of his stomach. In previous years, he went to town on all of the available food, but now he only wanted small portions and to try and not be sick.

He put on a small helping of fish and rice, a few deep-fried onion rings sliding on to his plate for some much needed fat. Fats were required in his diet, so if the voice wanted him to be healthy, then he was going to stick to a balanced diet and have fats. So metaphorically, Dudley was sticking two fingers up at the voice by adding the onion rings onto his plate.

He sat down and finished his dinner in less than two minutes flat, leaving his dirty plate on the table and exiting the dining hall without a word. His fingers trembled. He wanted another cigarette. _Badly._ Dudley was moving towards the direction of his dormitory when the sickness bubbled up within him and he lurched away, running towards the nearest bathroom, hand clamping over his mouth.

His mind screamed at him to not throw up, to not let the voice win, but as soon as he kicked open one of the cubicle doors and put his head down the toilet, Dudley failed to fulfil his vow. He vomited up the food he had just eaten, groaning in frustration. How the hell was he supposed to live his life day to day?! He had no energy, because all of the food he consumed was out of his body within an hour and the sleep was so disturbed that he was now permanently shattered, meaning he was turning into a shell of the person he used to be. He pulled his head out of the toilet, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and shuddered.

 _Cigarette. Now._

Dudley stood up, banging out of the bathroom and slipped outside into the night. He went to stand round the back of the building, near the sports field, under the trees. Anyone looking out of one of the school windows would be unable to see him standing under the oak tree, so without hesitation, he pulled out his half empty pack of cigarettes and replicated the actions of the morning, holding the lit cigarette in his right hand.

As he inhaled in, a sharp pain suddenly buzzed in his brain. Dudley winced, left hand coming up to cradle the side of his head to try and alleviate the sharpness, but a few moments later, the pain was all too much. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed against the trunk, laying slumped at the base. His cigarette fell out of his hand and upon landing, mysteriously extinguished.


	26. Chapter 26

**Storyseeker, I love your reviews, they give me a lot of motivation! Yeah, Voldemort did deal with the cigarette. Shorter chapter this time and I set Smeltings in Buckinghamshire.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWENTY SIX**

The sky was pitch black, the cluster of stars blanketed out by the glowing full moon. Across the nation, those prone to lycanthropy bowed to the will of the moon and transformed. On a small patch of grass, used mainly for spontaneous kickabouts with a football, a body lay out in the middle. A teenage boy, who could be easily mistaken for a young man in his twenties, lay flat-out on his back, unconscious. His chest dipped up and down and the expression on his face was serene, as if he had simply lay down on the grass to look at the stars and fallen asleep peacefully. However, that was far from the truth. It was one thirty in the morning and despite the warm early September temperature, the night chill was creeping into the teenager's bones and with a shudder, Dudley awoke.

The back of his head was tickled by strands of mud-stained grass, dark brown staining the blond. The bottom of his knickerbockers were drenched from the puddles he had unknowingly walked through and the cold wind seeped through his wet socks, chilling him to the bone. The back of his maroon blazer was coated in thick mud and his straw boater was nowhere to be seen. Dudley twitched his head to the side, digging his fingernails into the shallow soil. Coming back to consciousness, Dudley's irises dilated upon seeing the dark sky above him. For a moment, he imagined he was back underneath the invisible monster. _The Dementoid._

Dudley clamped his mouth shut, lips tightly sealed. They had come back to wreak revenge on him! The _normal_ victim who got away. He still had his soul intact, but it seemed that they had come to now retrieve his essence.

 _Many people would claim that he never had one to steal to begin with._

Dudley blinked and slowly sat up, torso folding in half as he rested his face lightly on his curled-up knees. Splatters of water coated his school shoes and his mind jumped to the assumption that he had walked through puddles on his way here, confirming a sneaking suspicion.

He was sleepwalking. _Again._

' _Just like I did at home. That time I fell asleep at home in the living room, then suddenly woke up outside in the park. Jesus Christ… I really am losing my mind.'_

He set his palms down onto the ground and pushed himself up onto his feet, regarding his surroundings with increasing fear. Near to where he was, were a row of terraced houses, but he didn't fancy knocking on one of their doors at this time of night. _How was he supposed to explain himself?_

' _They'll think I'm some stupid school kid, out on the lash and found themselves drunk and lost.'_

He wasn't afraid of the dark, only little children were and he wasn't a kid anymore, but he didn't feel entirely comfortable. It was more the sense of uneasiness that surrounded his location. Dudley needed a map with a big red arrow indicating his current location, so he could return to school before daylight broke, but more importantly, before his missing presence was noticed.

He spun round on the spot. Not one of the paths available seemed familiar, so cold and wet, Dudley ended up promptly panicking. He stumbled forwards, heading in a general direction, hoping to find either a bus stop or a taxi rank. His wallet was back in the dormitory but if he begged for a free ride, hopefully the driver would take pity on him. The more tempting alternative of threatening the driver, beating them up and stealing their vehicle would never work so he'd have to plead. Dudley crossed the street, stopping under a lit streetlight as he spotted his straw boater lying on the pavement right in front of him. He scooped the hat up and brushed the dirt off that tarnished the straw. Dudley tucked his hat underneath his right armpit and tried to control his breathing. Desperation was clawing at his chest. Getting in trouble with the school was no issue for him. It was more the realisation of being hopelessly lost and no solution to get himself out of this mess.

Worst case scenario would be to give up in his search for familiar surroundings and spend the rest of the night sleeping on a bench, waiting for the first few rays of sunshine. He would then hunt around the streets or beg pedestrians for any spare change to use in a pay phone. He would be forced to call the school to explain his absence because they would have surely been made aware of his disappearance as soon as the other boys who shared his dormitory awoke and he didn't turn up for any lessons. After all, he wasn't hard to miss considering he was tall, bulked-up and as loud as a foghorn. He couldn't just turn up unannounced in the middle of the day in a black cab. They'd ask questions and assume he had been out all night drinking.

Deciding that the best course of action would be to walk as far as possible before he collapsed, Dudley set off, looking anxiously behind him. The only people scary to him were _the freaks_ and he was ready to run a mile a minute if he caught any sightings of the no-nosed pale freak. For twenty minutes, he solidly walked the streets of Buckinghamshire, crossing multiple streets with no hesitation. Distracted by finding his way back to school and wondering how the hell he still had his sanity intact, Dudley missed the warning signs of the approaching car.

The blazing headlights shone on him but it was the screeching of tyres and frantic beeping of the horn that alerted him fully. Dudley spun his head round to the side, mind and body preparing for full-on impact.

* * *

At Smeltings Academy, Piers settled down in his four-poster bed, leaving the curtains open to get a view of the empty bed next to him. The covers were creased, showing that someone had recently been sitting on the bed, but no body occupied the sheets. Piers wondered where the hell Dudley was. He had seen him briefly at dinner time, but upon looking up from his plate a mere three minutes later, his best friend had gone.

He reckoned Dudley could have gone for a cigarette to calm his nerves. They both liked, _(sometimes craved),_ the taste of nicotine and would smoke for both enjoyment and to pass the time, but sometimes when Dudley was highly-strung, he would relax his mind by indulging in a fresh packet. One after his latest bout of boxing was ritualistic and Piers would often join him to celebrate the younger boy's achievements.

However, this time, _things felt off._ It was two in the morning and Dudley was still not back and without any word of warning that he would be back late, caused Piers to be unable to sleep peacefully. The possibility of Dudley leaving dinner early for a cigarette break to then chance buying a beer at the local pub was high, but why hadn't he told Piers his plan for their first evening back to school?

' _Oh right. The whole deal with Dennis's hand.'_ Piers thought morosely. The others had been quick to react, but the shock of the situation had cut his vocal cords. When Dudley had stormed off, Piers wanted to go after him. But he hadn't and the empathetic side of him regretted that.

He spent the next half an hour tossing and turning, trying to reassure himself about Dudley and lose his worries to sleep. Piers repeatedly told himself that when he woke up in the morning and looked to his side, Dudley would be in his bed, fast asleep. Snoring deeply, lying on his side and his left arm dangling over the side of the bed. The usual picture of the blond-haired boy in the morning. Piers could hear the steady breathing of the other boys in the dormitory, but after counting his one hundredth and twentieth sheep, he gave up on getting to sleep. The sheep jumping over the fence were replaced by images of Dudley in the worst possible situations, such as lying paralytic in a ditch, a vicious gang beating him up and leaving him bloody and bruised, or Dudley being taken advantage of by a cougar.

Muffling his laughter into the pillow, Piers crossed the last possibility off of his mental checklist. Hooking up with a cougar was good, gave Dudley plenty to boast about the next day.

Ten more minutes drained away before Piers lost his patience. Dudley may kill him the next time they encountered each other, throttling him for ratting out his absence to the teachers, but his recent behaviour had been worrying and he was anxious for his friend's safety. Piers got out of bed and wrapped his dressing gown around his thin physique, before setting off in search of the Headmaster. Mr Kerrington, a man of value and work ethic, would be livid about Dudley doing a bunk in the middle of the night, but Piers was running out of options. He knocked on the Headmaster's study, his first point of call, and waited for a response. If there was nothing, then he'd have to try and find Mr Kerrington in the teacher's sleeping quarters.

Fortunately, the door opened to a man in his mid-sixties. Clad in his dark blue pyjamas and rich teal dressing gown, slippers nestling his feet, Mr Kerrington smoothed a hand over his receding hairline and sighed.

"Mr Polkiss. What can I do for you? All those times we've had little chats together, it is because you have ended up in trouble. So young man, tell me. What have you done this time?"

Mr Kerrington was admired throughout the school for his leadership skills and encouragement to his pupils, but he could be intimidating if any pupil dared to face against him. Out of all the pupils currently at the school, Dudley was the one who'd argued against him the most. _Bad grades, bullying, anti-social behaviour and bad attitude._ Piers knew that Mr Kerrington most likely thought of Dudley as a lost cause, a poor excuse for an ' _outstanding young chap'_ that were produced at Smeltings, but he was going to tell his Headmaster the truth about Dudley's unknown whereabouts anyways.

"I haven't done anything." Piers paused momentarily. "Why you in your office? Thought you'd be asleep."

"Which is precisely what _you_ should be doing, Mr Polkiss. The reason why I was in my office is because I couldn't sleep, so decided to go over some of my paperwork. Now, why have you come knocking on my door at three thirty in the morning?"

"Well… it's Dudley."

"Ah, Mr Dursley. I knew that he would be involved. When one of you are involved in something, the other is usually not too far behind. Where is he? What have you done? Tell me the truth, Polkiss."

"Nothing! It's about Dudley. I saw him at dinner, then he just left and I ain't seen him since."

Mr Kerrington snapped to full attention. "You haven't seen him since dinner time?"

"No. He's not in his bed and he hasn't been back to the dorm room either."

"Has anyone else seen him? Any of your other dorm mates or classmates?"

"Not that I know of. We weren't really talking about him to be honest, but… I'm a bit worried. This isn't like him."

"Sneaking out of school at night isn't like Dudley Dursley?"

The question was rhetorical, but Piers still provided an answer. "Yeah, but he would have said something. Told me he would be out. I wouldn't be coming to you in the middle of the night if I knew where he was."

Mr Kerrington nodded his head, his concern over a potential missing pupil masked by his professionalism. He needed to remain calm in front of Piers, otherwise his duty as a care provider would be marked by panic.

"Let us state the facts. Dudley was last seen by yourself eating dinner at half six, would you say?" Piers nodded in affirmation. "Then he left the dining hall and has neither been seen or heard from since."

"Yeah. Something might have happened to him. Something bad."

"Right. Thank you for informing me, Piers. I will waken the other teachers and send out a search party for him. I will be in contact with the police and his parents if we cannot find him by daybreak. Do you need to see the nurse?"

"No. I'll come with you to wake the other teachers up."

"Very well."

The two of them set off towards the teacher's sleeping quarters and Mr Kerrington, after waking them up and gathering everyone together, informed them of the missing pupil they had to find.

* * *

"WHAT THE HELL, KID?! I COULD HAVE HIT YOU! DID YOU EVEN LOOK?!"

The voice boomed through the silence of the night air and Dudley felt like punching the bloke and giving him a bloody mouth. True, he hadn't initially seen the car and his heart had lurched to his throat upon seeing the desperate attempt to not crash into him. Luckily, the driver had managed to swerve out of the way just in time and avoid crashing into the kerb, both individuals relieved that there hadn't been a tragedy. The relief for the driver had quickly faded to anger and Dudley was now receiving a bollocking from the driver for not being sensible.

"I BET YOU DIDN'T! I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU!"

The reality of the words crashed down around Dudley's ears, but all he could stutter out was: "I've got to g-get back to s-school."

The driver paused his shouting to analyse Dudley's school uniform. "You go to the boarding school? Smeltings?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I guess the least I can do is offer you a lift. Just kid, p-please. Promise me next time you cross a street, you'll look."

Another time he may have felt that the tone was patronising and would have made that clear. However, they had both been through a shock and all Dudley wanted was his warm bed.

"Will do. Cool."

He slipped into the front passenger seat, leaning forwards to not get congealed mud on the back of the seat and waited for the driver to check over the engine to ensure it was in working order. When they set off, the questions soon bombarded him.

"So what were you doing out in the middle of the night? It's too late for a kid your age to be wandering the streets. Your school will be going mad when they find out you're gone."

Dudley pressed the left side of his head against the window and cosied up to the car door, trying to gain heat. He was freezing and felt as if a chill was settling into his body.

"Went out for a w-walk." The lie rolled easily off of his tongue. "I lost track of time and got lost. Is it far?"

"The school? A few miles. Lucky I know where it is and it was lucky I was passing."

"Mmh."

On his mind, Dudley was stunned that he had managed to sleep-walk miles and neither injure himself nor anyone else. Perhaps no-one had noticed him in his sleepwalking state, but he would never know.

' _Unless I get shown it to me in one of those messed up dreams. Jesus… I hope we're nearly there.'_

When they pulled up to the drive, Dudley got out of the car without another word and watched it drive off before turning round to confront the growing group of people streaming out of the main doors. Mr Kerrington was marching down the steps to him, hordes of teachers hovering outside of the doors and Dudley spotted Piers standing suspiciously amongst them. He narrowed his eyes. _What had he told them?!_

"Dursley! Thank goodness you're back!" Mr Kerrington slapped him sharply on the back. "We were just about to send out a search party for you and call the police and your parents. Where have you been?!" His relief was replaced by irritation. "You know the rules. No going out after ten thirty pm. You've had all us fretting. We are glad you're safe, but don't do it again. Have you been drinking at all?"

"No! I-I was sleepwalking."

"Sleepwalking?" Mr Kerrington arched an eyebrow and turned to the nurse. "I didn't think we had any sleepwalking records for you, Mr Dursley?"

Upon the nurse confirming that there were no sleepwalking records for him, Dudley's panic began to rise once again.

"I swear! _I did s-sleepwalk!"_

"I want to believe you, Dursley, but we can't prove it. Look, let us sort this out in the morning. Go to bed and get some rest, then as soon as you're awake, come see me in my office."

Relieved that he was finally being allowed to go to bed, Dudley scampered past everyone and headed towards his dormitory, wanting to get Piers alone for a much needed one on one.


End file.
